Paper Flowers
by Kris Harold
Summary: Hoenheim is a determined scientist who won't allow anyone to get in his way. The military is in hot pursuit. When his children begin to branch out, will his experiments be revealed? Warning: Character death.
1. Prelude

**Prelude**

Edward curiously watched Envy lying in bed dangerously still while Edward's mother put away the groceries. The lengthy blond hair draped over the pillow undisturbed like Envy had not moved for a long period of time. "Mom," Edward called, "what's wrong with Envy?"

Trisha scooped Alphonse into her arms so he could place a can of green beans on a high shelf, swaying her head to one side so her long brown hair would move out of her path. She had not heard everything her oldest son said. "What is it?"

"He's not moving," he elaborated. "Is he dead?"

She suddenly ran to the bedroom, setting her youngest son down outside the door without skipping a beat. Trisha brushed past Edward to kneel at the preteen's bed. "Envy?" she alerted. When he did not respond, she placed a hand on his chest and hovered her ear over his nose while repeating his name with more alarm.

Relieved to realize the boy was alive, she shook his arm gently. "Envy, what happened?"

The boy's eyes fell open a fraction at the movement. Gaze blank, he only responded with a breathy exhale.

"Is he okay, Mommy?" Alphonse asked, full of worry. His brown eyes began to form little droplets of water.

Trisha looked up at the anxious faces of her young boys; she held out her arms. "Come here," she said comfortingly. Both ran to her and stretched their little arms around her neck and shoulders. "Envy will be all right. He's just tired."

She hugged her children snugly, dropping a light kiss on each head. "That's my boys." The blond head of hair looked up at her to show Edward's worried, hazel-brown eyes; and the light-brown head of hair tilted his head back to reveal Alphonse's teary—but assured—gaze.

The sound of a distant door opening snapped her head to attention. Releasing her sons, Trisha stood with a firm expression on her face. "Stay here," she ordered as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hoenheim," she hollered, "I need to talk to you."

Edward quietly opened the door a fraction, just enough to peer out without notice. Alphonse tugged his sleeve. "Brother, let me see!" Alphonse pled.

"Quiet, Al," Edward snapped in a whisper. "Stay back."

Edward ignored his younger brother's persistent attempts in order to watch his parents. His father entered the kitchen from his basement laboratory. He wore a long, brown coat despite the lack of chill in the climate. His long, blond hair rest in a sleek ponytail at the base of his neck and appeared to be in need of a hairbrush; the man appeared exhausted like he had not rested for days. As Hoenheim adjusted his glasses, he asked, "Yes, dear?"

Trisha leaned back against the countertop and folded her arms. "What happened to Envy?"

"Nothing," the man insisted. "He helped me with my experiments again today, that's all."

A hand rose to her temple to press stressfully. "This has to stop; it can't be good for Envy's health if it leaves him like this and I don't want the boys to see it. It scares them."

"My experiments are perfectly safe, Trisha," he assured. "This is just an unfortunate side effect."

"I don't like it," she stated sternly. "This is the _last time_, Hoenheim."

Hoenheim approached his wife, cupping her jaw tenderly in his hands like fragile glass to ensure eye contact. He kissed her and smiled. "Come downstairs with me; I'll show you how safe my experiments are."

Edward watched her reluctantly agree for the sake of fairness before his parents retired to the laboratory. He waited hours for his mother to return to grant permission for him and Alphonse to go to bed, but he eventually joined Alphonse and Envy in slumber in the small bed.

The following day, Alphonse ran to the living room when he spotted Trisha sitting in the chair by the window. "Mom!" he cheered, arms outstretched to her happily.

She did not acknowledge his presence.

Edward entered behind his brother. He watched his mother's green-blue eyes stare blankly out the window with an expressionless face. He spotted swelling on her head and face with barely a glimpse of stitches past her hairline. While Alphonse proceeded to attempt to catch her attention, Edward began to weep.

**-One Year Later-**

Alphonse perched happily on Trisha's lap and manually turned her head to face him. "Mom, I have to read for one of my parents for school," he announced. Though her expression remained blank, he settled in her lap and opened a school reading book.

He read cheerfully while his older brother worked on a set of multiplication problems. Envy entered the house in silence, dragging his left foot behind him indifferently. He did not speak as to how his foot fell to injury, and he did not complain. Nonetheless, Edward eyed Envy cautiously.

"Runt, what are you doing?" Envy asked.

"Who are you calling so-puny-you-could-squish-with-an-eyelash?" he exclaimed.

He ignored the exaggerating outburst. "What are you doing?"

"Doing my homework!"

"Have you made your mother dinner yet?"

"Well, no…"  
"Hop to it," he ordered.

As Ed stood to do so, he froze to see his father emerge from the basement. "Edward, come downstairs. I need you," he commanded.

Though his instincts begged him to disobey, Edward followed his father to the laboratory. He eyed the familiar tools and felt instantly nauseous. "Dad, what are we doing?"

He pat a hand on a long, desk-like table beckoningly. "Up here," he replied as he gathered several notebooks and a box of utensils.

Edward hoisted himself on the table, dangling his legs off the side. "Okay, what now?"

"Take off your socks."

He tugged off his socks and dropped them to the floor. "Are we poking my feet with your pen again today?"

"Hold out your hands," Hoenheim instructed, "Palms up." When his son obeyed, he withdrew a long soft chicken feather to drag gently along each palm.

"Which tickled more?" Hoenheim asked.

Edward flexed the fingers of his right hand.

Hoenheim performed the same action along the bottoms of his son's feet. "How about now?"

He wriggled his left foot. "This one."

"Lay down, son," Hoenheim instructed with a pat on the table.

"You're not giving me more shots, are you, Dad?" he asked hopefully, loathsome of needles.

"No," he replied. Picking up a sharp tool, Hoenheim ran his thumb along the lengthy blade to examine the sharpness. "Now stay still."

Edward wondered why he need to stay still—or face force, as he had discovered from experience—until he felt the blade press down on his shoulder. The blade quickly continued down and hit muscle, causing a long bloodcurdling scream to reverberate against the thick walls.

"Pinako," Hoenheim barked as he pounded against the front door of the Rockbell home. "Pinako, open up!"

A small, elderly woman opened the door to squint up at the scroungy-looking man. "Elric," she asked in bewilderment, "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"It's my son Edward," he replied quickly, "He was playing in the equipment in the barn."

"Oh, dear, God!" she gasped. "Is he all right?"

"He's in the car with Envy and Alphonse." He turned back to the rain to lead the woman to the car. "I managed to slow the bleeding, and he's conscious."

Hoenheim opened the back door to reveal Envy cradling Edward in his arms, Alphonse sobbing in the corner of the backseat in horror. Envy looked pale, but he focused on keeping Edward awake and monitored the boy's responsiveness.

Pinako saw Envy's shirt was soaked with blood, Edward's bleeding right shoulder the culprit. A towel remained wrapped at the boy's left thigh to not allow the vehicle to become as saturated. "Where is his arm and leg?" she asked.

"I couldn't save them."

"Get him inside," she ordered, "Quickly."

As Envy moved to exit the vehicle, Pinako rushed inside and began rushing around to prepare the spare room and the gurney within. Her young granddaughter entered and stood by the door.

"Grandma, who was at the door? What happened?" she asked.

"There's been an accident," Pinako replied.

Hoenheim's hand gently gripped the blond girl's shoulder to move her aside. "Excuse us, Winry," he muttered.

Envy followed with Edward in tow, laying him on the bed carefully. Pinako quickly worked to stabilize the boy while Hoenheim shooed Envy and Winry from the room. While the vigorous little woman prepared sets of painkillers and tourniquets, she attempted to check the boy's mental state to calculate how much blood he had lost.

"Hey, pipsqueak, what's your name?" she snapped.

"I'm not…" he panted weakly, "…short, you old bat."

She smirked and administered an injection directly to his shoulder. When he cried out feebly, she prodded, "Name?" to distract him.

"Edward Elric," he whimpered.

"How old are you, Ed?"

"Eight," he replied.

His head arched back against the pillow and he cried out in pain as she injected his leg's remnants with the same drug. "I'll take it from here, Hoenheim," Pinako declared as her fingers nimbly began working over the wounds to stop the bleeding.

"Take Envy and Al home," she advised, "And give them a good supper. I don't want them to go into shock over this."

"Thank you, Pinako," Hoenheim replied.

After hours of Pinako's expert precision, she injected the boy with a mild sedative to help him sleep. He awoke in the morning to the room, lit wonderfully by daylight shining through the window.

A young girl with shoulder-length, straight, blond hair sat in a chair beside him. "You're awake!" she cheered.

Edward stared into space for several moments as he recollected the previous day. He had no desire to look at his aching limbs, or lack thereof, to assure himself of the event. Instead, he turned to see his guest. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her pink dress with a few of the tiny red flowers, a loose string that caught her fancy between her fingertips. When he looked up at her curious face, he saw her bangs pushed to one side and thought her hair's brilliant color matched that of the sun on a warm summer day.

"Grandma Pinako told me your name is Edward, and your mommy was friends with my parents before they died," she chirped.

Eyeing her cautiously, he replied, "I guess so… Who are you?"

She grinned joyously. "I'm Winry Rockbell." Watching his bandages carefully, analyzing how the gauze wrapped around his shoulder, she asked, "What are you going to do now, since you don't have your arm and leg?"

He answered apprehensively, afraid the conversation was some form of trap. "I don't know…"

"…Have you thought about auto-mail?"


	2. Chapter 1 A Gift for Roy

**Chapter 1 - A Gift for Roy**

Edward opened the door and continued inside briskly. "Wrath, hurry up," he barked, "We're going to be late!" He proceeded to the dining room in search of the boy.

"Looks like Wrath isn't the only one who slept in this morning," a woman in a white dress and apron declared while she slid a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate. Her dark-brown hair twisted in tiny braids to gather into a ponytail at her crown and swished when she turned. "Morning, boys."

"Morning, Teacher!" Edward and Alphonse chimed.

"Where's Wrath?" Alphonse asked.

The woman held up four fingers and counted off as she lowered each one in time. As the final finger lowered, a thirteen-year-old boy sprinted into the dining room and crash-landed on the nearest vacant chair. His long, wild and untamed hair was quickly shoved out of his way as he threw food on his plate while repeating, "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

"Hot!" he yelled after the first large bite. Wrath soon began to shovel the food savagely in his mouth with haste.

His large father sauntered into the room with a hearty laugh. "That's what happens when you're in a hurry," he declared.

Wrath continued to scarf down his food while the front door swung open again. "Ms. Izumi, are Ed and Al still here?" a girl's voice called.

The woman replied, "Running late, too, Winry?"

Winry skidded to a stop in the dining room with her waist-length hair swaying as she almost lost her footing, clearly flustered. "You left me!"

"You weren't up," Edward shrugged.

"You could've come to get me!" she snapped. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she turned to Wrath's father. "Mr. Sig, may I have one of these?" She pointed to the banana walnut muffins sitting in a basket on the table.

He nodded and watched her pluck one off the top. "Wrath," Sig began as he lifted his coffee.

"I'm going! I'm going!" he replied hastily before chugging his milk down and springing from the table.

Edward, Alphonse, and Winry followed calmly while Wrath scurried about the house to gather his belongings. "Bye," the four called in echoes of each other to the dining room.

"Have fun," Izumi replied.

The group trekked the two-mile journey to town for school and parted ways for class upon arrival. Edward and Winry entered the sophomore mathematics classroom and settled in their assigned desks to wait for class to begin. Each student who filed in quickly sat in his or her seat in fear of the strict instructor. He was the only teacher who followed the rules without a single exception, and a student caught breaking the rules repeatedly would not be tolerated.

The grey-haired man entered the room briskly during the class bell's final ring. Not a single hair lie out of place and his eyes squinted around the room to analyze his class. "Pull out last night's homework," he announced in a military-like command. "While I come around, get out a red pen for correcting, and turn to page twenty-three."

He marched up and down the aisles of desks, halting in front of Edward's desk. "What," he asked, "is _this_?"

"My homework," he replied, "Mr. Falman."

"It's blank," the teacher spat.

Edward did not reply, though he noticed the concerned expression of the boy in the neighboring desk.

"This is the third time this week, Elric," Falman continued. He proceeded to the other students' desks wordlessly. When he finished, he announced, "Study on your own for a few minutes. Elric, follow me."

Edward left his possessions at his desk, and he followed Falman out of the classroom and through the halls. Before reaching the principal's office, a familiar man fell into stride with the two, hooking an arm around Edward's shoulders affectionately. "Good morning, gentlemen," he chimed.

"Maes," Falman greeted stiffly.

"Where are you going?" the man asked.

"I'm escorting Mr. Elric to the office."

"Oh, is that all?" he drawled. "I'll take it from here."

"But--" Falman was quickly silenced by a wave of the hand, and he retreated to his classroom.

"What'd you do this time, Ed?" the casual teacher prodded.

"I didn't finish my homework," Edward replied.

The man sighed, "I can't help you there. Not with Captain Stiff-Shirt." He released the student's shoulders.

He cracked a small smile, relieved the man did not pester him about his responsibilities to complete homework and so forth because he knew he would hear many similar speeches later in the day from his other teachers. "Mr. Hughes," Edward asked hesitantly. "I need you to tell me something."

The man did not look up while he cleaned his spectacles with the hem of his shirt, but he nodded to indicate he was listening.

"I haven't met the new principal yet. How is he?"

After replacing his glasses on his face, Hughes poised a hand to his mouth and coughed to mask his rising smile.

"Welcome, sir," the vice principal greeted her superior officer. Her blond hair did not move with the force of her salute within the tight bun on her head.

"Thank you, Hawkeye," he replied.

"I'm afraid we haven't found much yet, but Kain and Armstrong are researching possible suspects within the regi--…" She trailed away when she noticed the man observing an origami flower fondly. "Colonel Mustang?"

He immediately awoke from his reverie. "Yes, you were saying, Lieutenant?"

She lowered the case folder to her side. "We _will_ find her, sir," she assured. "I feel we're very close."

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, lightly scratching his scalp in the process. "I hope so," he sighed.

A knock echoed against the office door. "Yes?" Mustang answered.

The door opened to reveal the school's guidance counselor leaning against the door frame. One hand rest on his chin to rub at the slight beard present along his jaw line, attempting to appear suave. "Good morning, Riza," he grinned.

"What do you want, Maes?" she replied.

"I have a gift for Roy," he announced proudly. Hughes turned to reveal the student behind him. "This is Edward Elric. I brought him to you for Falman. Apparently, he hasn't been completing homework again."

"This has happened before?" Mustang asked.

"Once or twice a week," Hawkeye confirmed.

Mustang eyed the boy for several moments. "I see." He sat behind his desk. "Then I believe the appropriate course of action would be two hours of detention with me after school. Does that sound fair?"

Edward did not reply, as the previous principal would add more time if Edward agreed the time was fair. He felt the charcoal gaze digging into his skin. "Anything else, Mr. Mustang?"

"Since Mr. Falman sent you here, you will serve your detention in his classroom." Folding his arms on top of his desk, the man dismissed, "Go on back to class so you don't miss the rest, and I'll see you after school."

Hughes opened the door and Edward whisked passed him and did not wait for an escort to class. When Edward returned to the classroom, he went straight to his desk and joined him in the lesson. Like a swell of wind, no one acknowledged his entrance.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the boy in the desk next to Edward asked, "Ed, you okay?"

He nodded. "I have detention after school."

"They're probably going to suspend you if you don't start handing stuff in on time."

"I know," Edward replied.

"You don't seem too worried about it…"

As the two neared the door, Winry greeted the boy who looked remarkably like Edward's younger brother—save the blond hair and blue eyes. "Hey, Alfonse," she said with the proper German pronunciation.

"Ed, why did you lie to me about having your homework done? I would've helped you ya'know," Winry demanded.

Alfonse opened his mouth to contribute; but the teacher called, "Mr. Heidrich, come in here a moment."

"Talk to you guys later," he said before retreating to the classroom once again.

To Winry, Edward replied, "I thought I would be able to get it done, but something came up."

"Like what?"

"None of your business."

She pouted angrily. "You never tell me anything anymore!"

Edward shrugged dismissively.

As the day proceeded, Edward's teachers did not send him to the principal's office for incomplete homework. His left hand, however, was slapped by wooden rulers multiple times. He could not ignore the fact his hand was throbbing painfully; and he refrained from doing writing of any sort during class to allow his hand to recover, as he was left-handed. He could not rush the process along by massaging the hand because metal does not work as well as a soft, human hand.

After school he followed orders and reported to Falman's classroom while Winry, Wrath, and his younger brother returned home. To follow procedure, Edward sat at a desk in the center of the room and waited for the principal to enter. He watched the man glide into the room and occupy Falman's desk.

Edward then began his homework for the night as well as from the last several days. He did not speak, trying not to place much stress on his left hand while he worked. By four o' clock—merely one hour in—Edward tucked his textbooks away in his messenger-style school bag.

"What are you doing?" Mustang asked, suspecting the boy was slacking.

"I'm finished," he replied flatly.

The man furrowed his eyebrows. "If you can get your homework done that quickly, then why don't you do it?"

"I have my reasons," he replied shortly, staring to the side of the room absently.

"Such as…?"

Edward glared at the empty air before closing his eyes to clear his thoughts. He turned to the principal. "I have to do chores when I go home."

"Then don't you get in trouble for staying after school?"

He did not reply and stared at his gloved hands.

Mustang bit the inside of his cheek and sighed in surrender. "Find something else to work on."

Edward withdrew a pair of scissors and a piece of paper. Next, a small wooden box snuggled in his grasp to sit on the upper corner of the desk. He lifted the lid and carefully placed an intricate rose constructed of folded paper on the middle-upper area of his desk for study.

He cut the piece of paper into a large square before beginning to fold in the corners. His eyes rarely moved from the paper rose while he folded crudely.

Mustang peered over the desk curiously in attempt to see what the student was making. Without a sound, he stood and tiptoed to the desk to peer at the craft.

Edward did not hear the approach, too absorbed in the project. He studied a peculiar-shaped fold in the rose before staring at the paper in his fingers. With another glance at the rose, he twisted the paper to a loose fold.

Mustang's fingers twitched with the urge to correct the technique, but he continued to watch quietly for a few more minutes before he surrendered to his urge. Straddling the back of a chair to a desk ahead of Edward's, he said stiffly, "You're doing it wrong."

Edward's long braid disappeared down his back as his head jerked to face the unexpected voice. "Excuse me?"

The man reached across the desk to grab the scrapped paper and scissors to make a small square, quickly making a miniature paper rose identical to the one Edward had retrieved from the wooden box. Mustang held the little flower up by the stem and twirled the paper slowly between his thumb and index finger. He smirked triumphantly.

"How did you learn to do that?" Edward asked in awe.

"An old friend," he replied. "Get out two pieces of paper and I'll show you how to do it."

Following orders, Edward placed two pieces of paper side-by-side on his desk and moved his disfigured flower aside to create workspace. He cut his piece into a square as he had seen the principal do earlier, and he passed the scissors over.

"You should take your gloves off, too, Ed," Mustang advised as he closed the scissor's blades on the paper. "It's easier to handle the paper."

The man watched Edward hesitate in the edge of his vision. "Go ahead," he urged.

Peeling the white cloth away carefully, Edward set the gloves in his lap. "All right, now what?"

Mustang paused when he spotted the student's hands. Edward's left hand was dark red, slightly swollen, and had traces of bruising creeping under the skin. The bruises darkened as his gaze neared the boy's knuckles, where he found fresh stitches merely days old (if he had to guess). Even more shocking was Edward's right hand, constructed of pure metal with noticeable screws in various places. The metal joints moved noiselessly, fluent as a real hand.

Eyes moving to Edward's face and back to his own piece of paper, Mustang asked, "What happened to your hands there?"

"I broke a dish in the sink," he replied with a slight withdrawal of his left hand.

Mustang noted the cuts did not lie in one line, but rather several smaller deliberate cuts in a straight line. An accident, he knew, would not be so neat but more jagged. He did not mention the inconsistency. "What about that one? I've never seen auto-mail like that in a small town like this."

"Pretty nice, isn't it? The Rockbells made it," Edward admired as he held up the hand and flexed the fingers. "Accident on the farm," he explained briefly. Using the metal hand, he tapped his left knee to make a light clang. "My leg got caught, too."

Mustang watched the boy out of the corner of his vision to observe Edward's reaction inconspicuously. "It's a good thing your parents can afford auto-mail, no less of that quality. They're pretty expensive."

Staring down at the metal, Edward drew his eyebrows together as he swam within his thoughts and memories. He clenched his right hand unconsciously into a fist.

Continuing as if he had not noticed, Mustang began instructing, "Now, hold it like this."

Edward snapped back to the present like the flip of a switch to follow directions.


	3. Chapter 2 One Heck of a Mess

**[AN]** I just want to thank everyone for the views thus far. Just to clarify for those who are uncertain to Edward's current age, he is now 16 (as of Chapter 1). I will leave you to do the math from there. Have a merry Christmas and enjoy chapter two! **[/AN]**

**Chapter 2 – One Heck of a Mess**

Closing the door quietly behind him, Edward glanced around the room. "Hey, Al? Are you in here?"

When he heard no reply, he proceeded to the kitchen to prepare his mother's dinner. He found Envy leaning against the countertop near the refrigerator. "Envy?" Edward asked in bewilderment as he looked around the kitchen. "Where's my dad?"

"Hoenheim is in town," Envy sighed. "He said he had to pick up a few things."

Edward's eyes darted around the room again. "Where's Alphonse?"

"Settle down, shrimpcake."

Edward shot a glare at the young man. Edward was thoroughly convinced the only reason Envy would remain living under the same roof as Hoenheim, and therefore continue to endure the cruel procedures, was so Envy could continue to torment Edward. He could find no other logical reason the man would remain there into his twenties when he could easily move out.

"Then where is he?" Edward repeated firmly.

"He's feeding the chickens."

When Edward moved to proceed preparing his mother's dinner, Envy stepped in his path. To answer the scowl he received, Envy said, "There's something you should know."

Edward withdrew a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, keeping his gaze on the man. "What is it?"

"I heard Hoenheim talking to Trisha a few days ago…"

Edward proceeded to pull a pan from a low cabinet and a fork from a nearby drawer. "So?"

"He said that some people have been snooping around lately."

"What about it?" Edward asked carefully.

Envy placed his hands on his hips exasperatedly. "Think, pipsqueak," he snapped. "What would happen if someone found her here?"

Edward blanched and stared at Envy, overlooking the insult for once in his life. "Where's he going to take her?"

"I don't know… probably really far so he isn't suspected. Either that or--"

"Don't," Edward begged. The possibility of his mother's death horrified him; although he knew her present state was, for all intents and purposes, the same as being dead. The mental image of her pale corpse sickened him; verbalizing the possibility would make the thought far too real.

Gripping the counter for stability, Edward slipped an empty sigh. He did not want Envy to know the extent the news disturbed him. "Does Al know?"

"If he knows, he didn't hear it from me," Envy replied. After a short pause, he asked, "Are you going to tell him?"

Edward looked out the window to see his younger brother trotting happily to the back door, leading to the kitchen. He could not answer Envy before Alphonse entered the room in a relatively pleasant mood.

Setting a metal bucket by the door, Alphonse announced, "We're going to need our jackets in the morning. Feels like it's going to frost tonight."

When he spotted his brother, Alphonse asked, "Are you feeling okay, brother? You look pale."

Edward moved slowly to crack two eggs in the pan. "I'm fine. Did you lock the chickens up for the night?"

Envy slipped out of the kitchen as Alphonse neared the refrigerator and drawled, "Yes." He returned the egg carton to the refrigerator to save his brother the effort.

"Hey, what do we have in there that you think Mom would like on her omelet?" Edward asked as he scrambled the eggs within the pan.

Scanning the contents like a library bookshelf, Alphonse named off, "Some cheese… ham… green peppers… onions… and I think that's it."

"Pull it all out," Edward instructed.

Although he followed orders, he proceeded to point out, "This is a lot of food, Ed… won't Dad get mad if he finds out?"

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry; she will just be eating what I would."

Alphonse began to saw at the ham while Edward peeled and sliced an onion. The stove was set on a low heat so the boys were not rushed to prepare the additional ingredients. The two did not speak while cooking until Alphonse heard his brother sniffle.

"Are you okay?"

Edward looked up at his brother with a smile and tears streaming down his cheeks. "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured. "It's just the onion."

He stared at the tearful eyes intently. "Is something wrong?"

Brushing the onion pieces into a bowl from the cutting board, Edward replied, "Hell, no! You're starting to sound like Winry!"

When Edward reached for the green pepper, Alphonse snatched the vegetable away. "Nevermind the pepper: it might be too strong for her with the onion," Alphonse decided.

Edward continued making the omelet using the ingredients he and his brother prepared, and he waited to feed the dish to his mother so the food would not scorch her mouth. He proceeded to the living room and watched the familiar scene before him: Trisha sat in a rocking chair by the window, far enough away from the glass in case a visitor arrived so she could not be seen. The lace curtains were closed to add to the process of hiding her presence but still allowed her to blankly stare out. She did not acknowledge his approach.

"Hey, Mom," Edward greeted with a fond smile. "I have your supper."

He sat in his chair next to hers, and he balanced the plate in his lap while laying a cloth napkin across his mother's legs. "I made you an omelet since I know you like them. Al helped me with it."

Using the fork to cut the omelet into small pieces, Edward speared the first morsel to lift neatly to Trisha's mouth. Once he pressed the food to her lips, she opened her mouth robotically to accept the nourishment. The act continued until the final ounce was devoured, and Edward used the napkin to gently wipe away any food around her mouth that had strayed during the meal.

"There," he announced softly. "All done."

He observed her blank expression intently. Picturing her beautiful smiles that used to warm his core like the sun against his skin on a summer day, Edward felt a ghost of the vivid sensation creep under his skin; he smiled faintly.

"Hey, I have something to show you," he declared. Retreating for his school bag, he yanked out a piece of paper and cut the extra space off to create a square before he returned to his mother's side. Though she showed no interest, he proceeded to fold the paper carefully until a messy rose remained.

"It's not very good yet… I need more practice… but what do you think of it?" he asked as he held the rose in her line of sight.

She did not respond.

Edward lowered the flower and tucked the stem inside her grasp. "Here, you keep it."

The front door opened and Edward stiffened instinctively. He turned to see his father removing a scarf to hang on a wall hook. "Edward," he barked crisply, "I need you in the lab in five minutes to check your hand."

"Okay," he replied in a near-whisper.

His pulse quickened as he anticipated the night's procedure. Edward rubbed his left hand anxiously in front of his chest and drew a shaky breath. Standing from his seat, he closed his arms around his mother snugly for a moment and released.

"Good night, Mom," he muttered before dragging his feet to the stairs, listening to Alphonse enter the living room behind him to accompany Trisha and eat his dinner.

Edward closed the laboratory door as he entered and occupied the seat he knew, from routine, the procedure would occur in. The previous day's tools had been sanitized and sat neatly in a tray beside the chair. Edward removed his gloves and rolled up his left sleeve to allow full access to the hand, stuffing the gloves into his pocket.

Hoenheim sat in his seat across from Edward, jotting down a few notes on a bundle of paper attached to a clipboard. He caught a glimpse of the bruising on Edward's hand amidst his writing. "Trouble in school again?"

"Yes," he muttered.

The man nodded slowly as he ended his note and set down the clipboard, but he did not reply. He reached for his son's hand, examining closely. "The swelling isn't draining…" Hoenheim noted aloud.

Edward closed his eyes to avoid watching the procedure. He listened to the light clanging of metal before he felt the stitches slink painfully out of his skin. Draining pus dripped down his hand and he heard his father mutter a comment to himself with the sounds of a pen scratching notes to paper. A cool liquid began to pour over his skin, immediately followed by intense burning. The stench of pus and rubbing alcohol invaded his nose. As the alcohol settled in the infected tissue, the pain grew and Edward hissed, clenching his right hand. The burning died away moments later as water flushed out the chemical.

"Move your fingers so I can see the joints," Hoenheim commanded.

Flexing the fingers of his left hand carefully through the haze of pain, Edward attempted to picture himself anywhere but within the laboratory.

**oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oO**

Edward stared out the window to avoid the lecture concerning his incomplete homework as Falman approached his desk. As a result, he did not see the ruler in the man's hand and was not prepared for the assault on his hand. Upon impact, Edward yelped and jerked his hand to his chest protectively.

While Falman returned to the front of the classroom, Alfonse noticed his friend's agonized expression and whispered, "Hey, are you okay?"

Cradling his hand, Edward did not respond. He clenched his eyes shut against the pain.

Alfonse glimpsed red liquid seeping through the white cloth of Edward's gloves, and Alfonse glanced to the instructor. The man opened his mouth to begin the lesson; Alfonse stood and interjected, "Excuse us, sir."

Falman blinked rapidly, stunned for a moment at the usually-quiet student.

Without waiting for a reply, Alfonse strode to Edward's desk and dragged him into the hall by the elbow. Once satisfied with the distance from the classroom, he released his friend and folded his arms firmly. "Go to the infirmary," he ordered.

"I'm fine," Edward bit through his teeth.

Alfonse glared stubbornly. "Either you go back and get your hand smacked twice as hard for leaving, go to the infirmary, or I'll _make_ you go," he declared.

After a moment of staring pensively into space, Edward found his friend gripping the back of Edward's neck firmly to guide him to the infirmary. Alfonse scoffed softly, "You are so stubborn!"

During the course of the journey, Edward continued to insist he was not injured until shoved inside the small office. A man, possibly in his 60s or 70s, squinted up at the two with a smile. His black hair had little streaks of white and grey above his ears highlighting the deepening wrinkles on his square face. Upon his desk shined an aging name plate that read: Dr. Timothy Marcoh.

"Hey, boys," the man welcomed warmly, "What can I do for you?"

Edward hid his left hand with his right, holding the hand to his chest protectively. He stared at the floor quietly, unwilling to reveal his injury.

The man smirked teasingly. "Did that Tringham boy say something about your height again?"

"It wasn't a fight," Alfonse replied. With a glance at his friend, he continued slowly, "I… Actually, I don't really know what it was…" He dragged Edward forward. "His hand's bleeding."

"I'm fine," Edward growled under his breath.

Nonetheless, Alfonse pulled his friend to sit on the brown cot-like bed and backed away to allow the doctor access. Doctor Marcoh trotted to the high cot and pried the hand from Edward's chest. The blood had spread through the cloth, so the man tugged on a pair of rubber gloves to handle the injury.

Doctor Marcoh peeled the glove away slowly and carefully. Back facing Alfonse, he ordered, "Get the principal, please, Alfonse. Tell him to come to my office and then go back to class."

When the student left, the doctor finished removing the glove to set aside. He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. "You have one heck of a mess here this time, Ed."

The ripped skin gaped with the stitches clinging to the flesh in desperate attempt to remain closed. The muscle and bone peeked through the blood eerily in the fluorescent lighting. The stench of pus sickened the doctor, despite how often he met the odor in his experience. He glanced to the student's face, surprised the boy appeared unaffected by the smell.

He knew he would not receive an honest reply if he asked the cut's origin, so he asked, "How did this open up?"

"I didn't finish my homework for Falman's class," Edward muttered casually.

"These have to come out," the man noted aloud. Doctor Marcoh stood to retrieve a series of little metal instruments to remove and replace the stitches.

The principal entered while Doctor Marcoh was retrieving chemicals to clean the site. "What do you need, Tim?" Mustang asked.

"Roy, I'm glad you're here," he replied, "Come look at this."

Mustang followed the doctor to where Edward sat without paying attention to the boy's presence. Although the sight surprised him, Mustang did not falter. He peered over Doctor Marcoh's shoulder to watch him work on Edward's hand. He observed intently like a student learning the trade.

"That looks painful," Mustang noted. "Do you think he should have some antibiotics for that?"

The doctor nodded while plucking out the stitches delicately. As he proceeded, he asked, "Holding up all right, Ed?"

Mustang watched the boy's face twitch into a brief grimace at each pluck; Edward attempted to force his face to remain neutral despite the pain. "I'm fine," Edward replied flatly.

While he watched, Mustang studied the injury closely. The cuts rested in a single straight line, differing from the cuts he saw the day before. The healing progress appeared to have reversed, save the new injury. He was utterly bewildered to how such an occurrence was possible. How could an injury's healing process reverse?

He concluded that, logically, the incision must have been done intentionally. By Edward's reactions to the pain, he knew the boy could not be a masochist; and the marks did not match the pattern of attempted suicide.

"Edward," Mustang asked as he straightened. "Who has been cutting your hand?"

"What?"

"Who's been cutting your hand?" he repeated.

Edward blinked as if amazed the man would reached such a conclusion. He stared at his principal, consciously preventing his jaw from falling agape in shock. His gaze drifted from Mustang to Marcoh and returned to Mustang. "No one," he replied.

"Are you being bullied?"

"No."

"Is someone hurting you?"

"No!"

"Do you like the attention or someth--?"

Edward stood abruptly, tightening his hands to fists. The hands froze above waist-level in his advance as he remembered the position his would-be opponent held if he were to proceed. He breathed through his nose while his blood raced through his veins, ready for action. The wound in his hand began to throb, forcing him to loosen the fist for comfort.

Meanwhile Mustang stood calmly, unmoved by the advance as he would not be intimidated by a snarky student. He realized he had pushed a psychological button within the boy, but he needed to uncover the exact cause for the reaction. He remained silent and observant until Edward deflated to his seat.

"I'll go fill out the paperwork," Mustang announced as he turned. "Tim, give him something to prevent scarring, too. That looks like a doozy."


	4. Chapter 3 Opened Floodgates

**[Author's Warning]** Strong language. Ideologically sensitive. Expect more of this in future chapters (well, those of you who know Edward and Envy's cursing shouldn't be surprised). Just a reminder of this fan-fiction's maturity rating. Thank you for the views, reviews (though I would like more if possible), and such thus far. Enjoy! **[/Author's Warning]**

**Chapter 3 – Opened Floodgates**

The door of Edward's locker shut quickly, narrowly missing his face. He did not have to look to know the student who closed his locker was Russell Tringham. "What do you want?" the upperclassman asked.

Russell tossed his head to the side to move his blond hair from his ocean-blue eyes and smirked. "I heard a midget got beat up by Mr. Falman today, so I came to see how bad he got you."

Edward snarled angrily, "You're so full of it!"

"Aw," he cooed sarcastically. "Did I hurt the midget's feelings?" Russell rest a hand on his vertically-challenged upperclassman's head. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Growling vengefully, Edward lunged with his right fist poised for impact. Russell sidestepped his opponent while Edward's younger brother yanked him backward by the shirt.

Alphonse attempted to calm the explosive temper with reason. "Please, brother! You can't get in any more fights this semester, remember?"

"I don't care! Let me go!" Edward flailed about in his brother's grasp in attempts to reach his target.

"Think about what'll happen!"

After a moment, Edward's movements ceased with a simmering grumble. Upon noticing Russell's smug expression, Alphonse pulled back a suspender strap from Russell's chest to allow the following painful snap to act as revenge. "Quit picking on him, Russell," Alphonse chided.

With a chuckle, Russell replied, "Ah, I'm just messing with him, Al."

"Well, don't." Alphonse declared, "Fletcher is waiting outside; let's go."

Edward tugged on his red calf-length coat and followed his brother. His mind drifted away from Alphonse and Russell's conversation, and his left hand burrowed in his coat pocket to rest. While the two spoke, Edward glanced up at the street to see Fletcher crouched down in the middle of the lane. The boy stared at the street lane in shock like a deer caught in a set of headlights. Russell saw the oncoming car first, calling out his little brother's name.

Thrown immediately into action, Edward outran Russell into the road. He grabbed Fletcher's frozen body in a football-esque tackle. The car whizzed by, oblivious to the near-catastrophe, while the boys tumbled to a stop at the curb.

Fletcher remained curled in a ball while Edward sat up. Russell passed Edward and fell to the ground in front of his brother. "Fletcher!" Russell called.

He began checking the elementary child for injuries before placing a hand to either side of Fletcher's face, forcing the boy to look at him. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You know not to go in the street!"

Russell stared into the moss-green eyes, shaking Fletcher's head slightly—whether he did so out of anger or as a result of the fear wracking his nerves, Edward did not know. "Why did you do that?" Tears filled the boy's eyes, and Russell shook Fletcher vigorously in hopes of arousing a response. "Answer me, Fletcher!"

"He's scared; yelling at him won't help," Edward defended.

Russell stared at his brother and saw Fletcher glance down. He released the boy to uncover what rest in his grasp. "What are you holding?" He pried the arms apart to reveal a tiny tortoiseshell kitten, the long fur sticking to Fletcher's sweaty arms.

At a loss for words, Russell sighed.

"Can we keep him?"

"Dad's allergic," Russell reminded.

"But we can't _leave_ him here!" he begged. "He'll die!"

"His mother will take care of him." Russell glanced to the street to see a heap of furry road kill that resembled the kitten. He watched the kitten mew at the lifeless pile longingly and sighed. "Fletcher…"

"What if _we_ took him?" Alphonse offered.

Edward stroked the kitten's head tenderly, deep in thought. Winter would arrive in as short as a month; and the kitten was not old enough to live without assistance, even without the cold. The kitten mewled affectionately and leaned into his touch. He released a deep exhale at the pleading faces of Alphonse and Fletcher.

"Just until we find it a home, and you have to make sure Dad doesn't find it," Edward acquiesced.

Winry skipped over to the small group. "What do you have there?"

"A kitten," Russell answered as he stood to take both of her hands in his. "And it's almost as adorable as you."

"Funny," she replied flatly.

Edward pulled Russell away from Winry by his suspenders, releasing with a painful snap. "Oh, yeah, really funny," he added sarcastically. "Let's go home, Al."

Alphonse accepted the kitten from Fletcher and stood to follow Edward and Winry for the long journey home. Winry agreed to ask her grandmother for permission to adopt the kitten as long as Edward provided shelter for the animal until she could do so. After determining the kitten was female, the three discussed possible names while she slumbered cozily in Edward's coat hood.

The group parted ways upon nearing home, as Winry had to walk an extra half-mile to reach her grandmother's house. Edward and Alphonse entered casually to not raise suspicion about the tiny stowaway. Passing the living room, Edward froze in his tracks as he took a second glance within.

His mother's chair was empty; Trisha was gone.

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"Can I go outside today?" Roy asked as he watched the children play outdoors.

His foster mother slathered the boy's back gently with burn cream. She could feel the congestion in his chest as he coughed black phlegm into his handkerchief. "You know you can't," she replied uniformly, "If you get sick, you have to go to the hospital again."

"But I'm bored!" Roy coughed violently into the handkerchief, releasing more soot-infused mucus from his lungs.

She proceeded to wrap gauze around his torso to protect the burn. "Read those books I brought you."

Once the coughing fit died away, Roy whined, "I don't like to read."

"Try it: maybe you'll learn to like it." She stood. "I have to go fix lunch."

Roy huffed grumpily and returned to staring out the window to watch the children play in the snow. The doctor ordered him not to leave the house until midsummer, even though he had spent months in the hospital. The boy's immune system was significantly lowered after the house fire, and the emotional stress of losing his family in the fire slowed his recovery. To add insult to injury, other children feared his burns and avoided contact with him.

He did not understand why a child would remain indoors willingly and jumped when he heard one enter. Roy saw a girl in a blue dress with long brown hair standing in the doorway with a warm smile. She tousled a curled-and-ribboned pigtail unconsciously in thought. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," her angelic voice chimed.

Roy blinked rapidly to be sure the eldest foster child of the house—less than four years older than he—was truly in his doorway. "Why aren't you outside, too, Trisha?" He wondered if, as she had not lived in the home long, she did not like to play with other children.

"They have enough people for tag, and you're all by yourself," she replied. "Besides, my social worker said he'd come by today. He wants to talk to me about my dad."

"Court date coming up?"

Trisha sat across from the boy on his bed, folding her legs in front of her and setting out her dress neatly. "How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "That's usually why social workers stop by."

As she pulled a few pieces of paper from a small pocket in her dress, he spotted a yellowing hand-shaped bruise on her forearm and a fresher bruise shadowing her neck. He frowned at the thought of anyone harming such a kind person. He did not feel self-conscious about his burns in her presence, because she behaved if she could not see them.

"Since you can't go outside, do you want me to teach you some origami?" she asked sweetly.

The dream faded as the vehicle slowed to a stop and a man nudged his shoulder. Mustang's eyes focused in the darkness on the statuesque man in the driver's seat. The bald head glistened in the dim glare of the headlights, shadows outlining the blond mustache and single curl where his widow's peak would be if he had more hair. The muscular arm withdrew.

"Colonel, we're here," the man muttered.

After checking his surroundings, Mustang replied, "Thanks, Major."

Both men climbed out of the car, and Mustang tugged his coat tighter around his neck for warmth. "We have to walk to the river," the muscular man notified, his breath visible in the chilled air until vaporized into the atmosphere.

"Lead the way, Armstrong."

The two stepped over the crime scene tape into the wooded area and proceeded until several more officers came into view. Most paused to salute the new arrivals and several scurried over to present reports to the superior officer. Mustang waved the people away with orders to report later.

He had to force his feet not to sprint to the river's banks to the largest cluster of people. His lieutenant stood when she noticed his arrival. "Sir, maybe you shou--"

"Out of my way, Hawkeye," he barked. He moved her to the side by the shoulder and continued. After a few strides, he abruptly halted in shock. Mustang grimaced. Although he could not see the face of the woman lying face-down in the river, he knew who she was.

"Colonel Mustang, let us handle this," Armstrong insisted.

"Are you finished analyzing the scene yet?"

"Sir, you look pale." Hawkeye suggested, "You should sit down."

"Hurry it up," Mustang commanded as he brushed off the woman's advice. "Get her out of that water."

The officers exchanged glances, neither wanting to ignore protocol nor disobey orders. A familiar lieutenant-colonel trotted through the crowd, hooking an arm casually around his superior's shoulders to furtively stabilize his old friend.

"Let them do their job, Roy," he declared. "Come on; let's go talk business over some coffee before you make the whole battalion jumpy."

When the man did not budge, Hughes tugged him along to his car. He drove while Mustang rest in the passenger seat, face buried in his hand. When the car reached a small house, Hughes turned off the engine. He watched his silent friend a moment before cracking the car door open.

"You coming, Roy?"

Hughes walked slowly to remain in step with the colonel once Mustang dragged himself from the car. The small house did not contain extravagant furniture: only the basics in each room. Unpacked boxes towered in dark corners with no signs of use in the near future. Hughes brewed the coffee while Mustang collapsed into the closest seat at his small kitchen table in silence.

"The autopsy won't be back for a day or two, but it looks like she drowned," Hughes notified. He carried two mugs of coffee to the table.

"She didn't deserve this," Mustang muttered.

"No one does," Hughes replied logically. He watched his friend attempt to hide his tears while staring at an old photo within his pocket watch. "You haven't taken a death _this_ badly since the first time you had to shoot someone."

"It was a kid."

"He was a terrorist, and you were a soldier with orders."

"Trisha didn't do anything…"

"Listen to yourself, Roy! If you don't pull yourself together, you'll be taken off the case. Is that what you want? You and I _both_ know that the _only_ reason we were allowed to be on this case is because we assured them we wouldn't get emotionally involved!"

Mustang removed his hand from his face with a hefty sigh. "I know." He took a sip of his coffee, staring at the old photograph.

A young, nerdy-looking boy brimming with energy grinned into the camera. The taller boy beside him had been forced to bend slightly—equalizing statures—by the spectacled boy's arm position around his neck. The taller boy smiled at the camera, but he appeared unsure whether he should be smiling or not. He could be described as nervous of the informal closeness. Finally, a brunette girl stood behind the two with a hand on each head affectionately. Roy could still hear her laughing, telling Maes not to tease him and be cautious of the burns on his back.

Mustang had to use effort to not slam the mug on the table. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for her to testify against her father? She didn't want to be hurt anymore, that's why she married a soldier! Then this…"

"Do you think I don't know that? Did you forget I lived next door to you guys for how many years?"

Hughes glanced around the home from his seat and spotted a bottle of scotch resting on the kitchen counter. He sighed when he connected the alcohol with his friend's emotional state. "You should go shower. You have to be at the school in less than two hours, and you can't be like this when you tell the boys. You're not supposed to know her, remember?"

Mustang combed his fingers through his hair. "I know," he groaned. He slammed his fist down on the table, making the mugs jump and clatter. "It's all my fault!"

"You know that's not true--"

"Yes it is, dammit! If I hadn't introduced them--"

"We can't prove it yet--"

"How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I see it?"

Hughes stood and reached across the table to grip the front of Mustang's shirt roughly. "Nobody saw it! Now if you don't knock this off _right now_, we'll be taken off the case, it'll be given to somebody else, and they'll probably be stupid rookies that'll blow their cover in the first week! We need to stay calm or he'll panic and either disappear again or kill the boys," Hughes snapped.

"Even his old lab partner wasn't smart enough to escape the government very long. If we aren't careful, Hoenheim will slip right through our fingers and we'll never catch him. Just hold it together until we can get enough evidence to make sure he can't touch anyone ever again." Hughes released Mustang's shirt carefully, convinced the concept had reached his commanding officer. He sat to drink his coffee.

Hughes left when he finished his coffee so the two could report to the school routinely to not draw attention. Mustang remained numb until he was formally notified of the death in his office. With Hawkeye and Hughes at his heels, he proceeded to the freshman English classroom. He waved a hand from his place at the door to catch the attention of the mousy teacher with short brown hair and glasses.

"Principal Mustang," she gasped. "You startled me! How may I help you?"

"Good morning, Miss Schiezka," he replied. "I need Alphonse Elric to come with me. Bring your things."

Alphonse gathered his books and scurried out the classroom. He followed quietly to the sophomore mathematics class. Mustang leaned inside the door wordlessly. Several students turned to see the new arrivals while Falman continued teaching. Mustang summoned Edward quietly with a beckoning wave of his index finger.

Hughes eyed the brothers during the journey to the principal's office. Alphonse curiously glanced at Hughes, Mustang, and Hawkeye in turn. Meanwhile Edward resorted to staring at the floor as if avoiding tiny land mines in his path. He appeared on the verge of tears.

The five filed inside the principal's office; Hughes and Hawkeye remained in the back of the room while Mustang sat on the front of his desk. "Take a seat, boys," Mustang instructed.

Edward focused on his hands as his fingers tangoed in his lap. Alphonse's eyes darted about the room for clues to why he had been called to the principal's office. When he did not receive clues from the window, aloe plant, or bookshelf; he returned his gaze to the man before him.

"Boys, there's no easy way to say this; so I'll cut to the chase," Mustang began in a low and gentle voice. "Trisha Elric was found dead this morning in the river in the woods. I'm very sorry."

Alphonse's eyes welled up with tears instantly. After a few gasped breaths, he squeaked, "What? No! It's not true!"

While his brother continued to deny the news in tears, Edward bit his lower lip. Each of his brother's cries cut him like a knife until he had to stand and retreat to a deserted corner in the back of the room. Every ounce of his energy worked to preserve his composure, causing his body to quake with the stress.

Hughes maintained his distance with the knowledge people may lash out when approached in a state of grief. "Ed, are you okay?"

He could not form a convincing verbal reply, so Edward did not respond.

"Sit down," Hughes suggested.

"I'm going to be sick…" Edward whispered shakily. He leaned against the wall involuntarily.

A series of loud knocks echoed against the door until Hawkeye turned the door handle. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to come back later."

The door flew open to reveal two familiar figures scanning the room with an air of authority. "Edward," the woman called. "Alphonse."

Alphonse turned to Izumi, gasping for air through his sobs. "Teacher?" he croaked.

She smiled sympathetically at the boy before shifting her attention to Mustang. "Are you in charge here?"

"Yes; I'm Principal Mustang. And who would you be?"  
"I am Izumi Curtis, and this is my husband Sig. We're taking the boys home."

"Are you a relative or guardian?"

"I'm their neighbor; and since their father can't take them home, _I_ am."

Alphonse scuttled from his seat to Izumi, whom stretch out an arm upon his arrival. Edward approached stiffly like a robot, and she extended her free arm to him. He stopped just beyond her reach, gaze glued to the floor.

"C'mere, Ed," she coaxed.

When he looked up at her caring, motherly face; his emotional restraints burned to the ground and tears fell like she had opened floodgates in his eyes. Edward ran into her like a small child and choked a sob into her side. His defenses crumbled as Izumi's arm closed around him, and his body shook like her grip was the only force holding him together.

Mustang watched Izumi's kind face grimace with the weight of the boys' sorrow. He nodded to his subordinates to indicate departure so the four could have privacy.

After a long period of tearful silence, Izumi whispered, "Let's go."

Sig opened the door and stood to the side to provide room for the three to pass through.

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Edward set his school bag next to his bed. Upon seeing the photo of himself, Alphonse, and his mother propped up on his nightstand; he tilted the frame forward to lay face-down. He glanced out the window to see Alphonse preoccupying himself with chores. Relieved by the fact his father's car was missing, Edward knew no experiments would take place as Hoenheim would be in town until late in the night. As Trisha's husband, Hoenheim was naturally summoned for questioning and was required to arrange the upcoming funeral.

A low growl echoed from Edward's stomach reminded him to prepare supper. He did not eat much for lunch, and what he managed to consume had been forced by Izumi due to the boys' lack of appetite. He trudged to the kitchen, exhausted from the emotional stress and hours of sparring at Izumi's house, in search of food. After he pulled a bunch of broccoli from the refrigerator, he opened the drawer for the appropriately sharp knife. He could not find the blade he wanted, however.

"Envy, do you know where the vegetable knife is?" he called through the house.

Turning toward the bathroom door, Edward noticed rays of light reaching out from beneath the door. He strode to the bathroom door. "Envy, are you in there?"

He knocked firmly before pushing the door open. He saw Envy standing at the sink, his back facing Edward. "Hey, have you seen the knife I use for cutting vegetables?"

The reflection of Envy's face in the mirror was pale with an agonized expression. "Get out," Envy barked.

"Are you okay?" Edward approached the sink.

First, Edward spotted the knife in question within Envy's hand. His gaze followed the knife's blade to where the metal met the skin on Envy's arm. Blood stained the edge of the blade that peeked above the flesh. The knife had not moved from entry point near the inside of the young man's elbow. The wielding hand shook violently in position.

For a moment, Edward could only gape at the scene. His brain thrust into motion and he gripped Envy's arm, jerking the blade away from the skin. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Let go of me, you stupid pipsqueak!"

Envy thrashed against the grip, but Edward held firm. "What will killing yourself solve?"

Pulling at the knife, Envy spat, "Don't you get it? He killed Trisha, and we're next! If I'm going to die, I want to get it done and over with!"

"You don't know that for sure," he retorted. "If everyone thought that way, there would be no one left; because here's a newsflash for you: _everyone_ dies eventually!"

Envy slammed Edward's back harshly into a wall in the struggle. "What kind of life is this?" He beat Edward's arm against the wall in attempts to loosen his grip to no avail. "The only reason we're still alive is so he can do more and more tests day in and day out, and I'm sick of it!"

Edward's hand ached with the abuse, and he shoved Envy back. The two tripped so the high school sophomore landed on top of Envy roughly, still pinning his hands. The knife flew out of Envy's grip in the fall, and the two proceeded to struggle for possession of the weapon. Edward screamed for his younger brother who burst into the house in moments and kicked the knife out-of-reach.

Moving his grip to Envy's shirt, Edward drew back one fist and punched him in the face. While Envy recovered dizzily from the blow, Edward leaned down so Alphonse could not hear him speak.

"You are _not_ leaving us here like that after my mother _died_ after trying to make life better for your sorry ass," Edward hissed in Envy's ear. "Or did you forget _she_ was the one who suggested you live with us after _your_ mother disappeared, treated you like her own son, _and_ confronted my dad when she found out about the experiments he was doing on you?"

Envy blinked as Edward's tears of rage and sorrow dripped on his face. As Edward faced the young man, he added, "It's the least you can do to not throw it away like yesterday's garbage."

Edward stood abruptly and returned to the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 4 Grumpy Shrimpcake

**Chapter 4 – Grumpy Shrimpcake**

Mustang stood in the bulk of the crowd, the brim of his hat tilted low to mask his eyes. While the priest boomed his routine sermon, Mustang glued his gaze to Trisha's sons. A young man he did not recognize stood next to Hoenheim, neither showing any form of emotion.

Edward and Alphonse stood in front of their father, eyes locked tearfully on the black casket. Alphonse choked back sobs and allowed the tears to cascade down his cheeks freely. Edward forbade the tears to leave his eyes and secretly tugged his younger brother's hand into his comfortingly. He did not make the contact obvious to onlookers to not draw attention.

The colonel shifted his gaze to Edward's right, where the two Rockbell women stood. Winry, as he recalled from reports he received, held Edward's gloved auto-mail hand in her left.

Mustang watched the funeral proceed and observed as Edward and Alphonse each laid a bouquet of white lilies on top of the coffin at the conclusion of the sermon. The man was proud to learn Trisha's sons remembered what her favorite flowers were.

An arm grabbed his sleeve and pulled. Mustang turned and retreated with Hughes to the waiting car. When the vehicle rolled down the road, Hughes announced, "We'll bring our flowers later tonight when everyone is gone."

Mustang nodded quietly in agreement. "Did you see the boys?"

Hughes hummed in confirmation. "Could you imagine? Their mom's been missing for years and turns up dead…"

"Speaking of which, did you get the autopsy results?"

Hughes tapped a stack of folders beside him on the bench. "I don't think it's Hoenheim… there was something weird about the body."

"Like what?" Mustang picked up the top folder and leafed through until he found the anomaly. At first, he could not understand what he saw. "Her brain…"

"Frontal lobotomy," Hughes confirmed.

"What does that mean?"

"The frontal lobe holds personality, emotion, and decision-making abilities; including little ones like turning your head and talking. Without it, she must've been like a body without a soul."

"How would Hoenheim know how to do that? Judging by the scars, it wasn't done recently by any means…"

"That's just it: he shouldn't know how," Hughes declared. "If that hadn't been done properly, Trisha would have died before the frontal lobe had been removed. That's ignoring the possibility of infection or blood clotting issues later."

"So what are you saying? It wasn't Hoenheim?"

"Not unless he had a hell of a lot of practice before he did her." Hughes passed another folder to his friend. "The only leads that even come close, other than Hoenheim, would be these two. But they don't mess with the brain until _after_ the person is dead."

Mustang studied the two photographs in the folder. Both suspects had bright-red irises: a sign the duo were from the small country to the east known as Ishbal. The man had a block-shaped face with a distinguished scar in the shape of an "X" reaching from his forehead to his cheekbones in the center of his face. The woman had a tattoo—unusual for one of Ishbalan nationality—on her chest of an ouroboros with Flamel's Cross in the center.

"Their M.O. is too messy: it can't be them," Mustang concluded. "Besides, these murders have only been in the east. We're too far west for these two."

After setting aside the folders, Mustang delved deep into thought. "We're just missing something…but what?"

He stared at the autopsy photos once again pensively. Mustang's gaze drifted over her clenched hands, returned, and froze. Raising the photograph closer to his face, he finally shoved the paper at his subordinate. "What's that in her hand?"

**oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO**

Hoenheim held a basket out to Edward. "I found these in the barn," the man announced.

Taking the straw basket in his grasp, Edward grimaced. Four kittens slumbered in the corner, huddled together for warmth. Two were orange, one grey, and one cream; the kittens were no more than four weeks old. He could see the kittens had not escaped his father's laboratory unscathed: stitches peeked out from beneath the fluffy fur.

"Take care of them," Hoenheim ordered before retreating to his laboratory.

He carried the basket into the living room to retrieve his shoes. As he continued to the door, he turned back to his mother in the chair. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he muttered.

He proceeded out to the door, knowing he would not receive a response.

Edward crept quietly across the lawn to the dense trees to avoid catching Alphonse's attention. If his brother knew about the task at hand, he would surely erupt in tears of protest and make the job more challenging. He trudged down the path Envy had jerked him along by the hair many times before. He forced his gaze to face straight ahead to avoid looking at the small pyramids of stones in the tall grass.

A few yards later, he knelt at the riverbank; setting the basket down carefully beside him. He reached into the warm bundle of kittens to find the two orange kittens were already dead, body heat draining quickly from the small bodies. Although the grey kitten did not move, he felt the breath and heartbeat. The cream kitten mewled softly as Edward tearfully scooped up the grey kitten.

He hugged the kitten close. "I'm so sorry," he choked through his nausea. With a shaky inhale, he closed his eyes and lowered the kitten to the water.

Edward awoke to the fluffy tortoiseshell kitten nuzzling into his jaw, laying across his jugular for warmth. The kitten purred affectionately against his skin, tickling him with her whiskers. He traced his fingers along her spine sleepily.

"Hey, Paninya," he whispered.

She nibbled playfully at his chin, eager to play after a night of inactivity. After a lengthy stretch, Edward climbed out of bed and plopped her on his sleeping brother's back.

"Al," he called while rooting through the dresser for clothes, "wake up; we take Paninya to Winry's today."

As usual, Alphonse did not stir. Edward still found the behavior strange, as the boy's usual reason for sleeping in was late-night homework; Alphonse was already asleep when Edward returned home from detention the night before. As he wriggled into a clean pair of pants, Edward repeated, "Get up, Alphonse."

When his brother did not wake, Edward leaned over the bed to press his left palm to Alphonse's forehead to feel for a fever. "Hey, you're not getting sick on me, are you?"

Upon the contact, Alphonse slowly opened his eyes, only vaguely aware of the kitten preying on unsuspecting ruffles in the blanket over his shoulder blades. Dark bags rest under his eyes and red freckles decorated the same region as evidence of the last week's emotionally stressful events. "Ed, I feel really weird," he mumbled.

Edward straightened to button a long-sleeved white shirt appropriately. "It's probably from sleeping so damn long: it'll make you sick. Hop up, and get moving."

As Alphonse slumped out of bed, Edward ventured to the kitchen to cook an egg for the kitten. With a dash of milk into the dish to cool and moisten the egg, he returned to the bedroom. He placed the dish on the floor, and Paninya sprinted to the food. Edward watched his brother tug on a black short-sleeved shirt sluggishly.

"We're going to be late if you don't move faster," Edward declared.

Once the kitten scarfed down the last of her breakfast and Alphonse gathered his bearings, Edward tucked Paninya inside his long red coat and proceeded to the Rockbell home.

After leaving the kitten in Pinako's care; Winry, Alphonse, and Edward continued with the morning in their normal routine. When the class bell dismissed the students to lunch, Alphonse decided, "I'm eating lunch outside."

"What for?" Russell asked as he collected his possessions from his desk.

"It's nice out today," Alphonse reasoned. "Might as well enjoy it before it snows."

Russell shrugged his shoulders. "I'll see if Fletcher wants to."

While Russell retrieved his younger brother, Alphonse found a foreign sensation crawling under his skin. He compared the feeling to a ghostly buzzing through his veins or boiling water. The ruckus of the other students dining outdoors intensified the sensations, despite his attempts to block out the noise. He sat at a picnic table and tapped his fingers on the wood distractedly.

Fletcher soon plopped down beside him on the bench with his lunch. "Hey," he greeted happily. When he noticed his friend's distress, he leaned forward to gain a better view of Alphonse's face. "Are you okay?"

Oblivious, Russell stood behind the two and asked, "Where's the grumpy shrimpcake today?"

"Shut up," Alphonse snapped.

Uncertain if he heard the outburst correctly, Russell turned to ask, "What?"

Alphonse stood, turned, and lunged at Russell in one swift motion to land a punch to the boy's left cheek. Stunned, Russell instinctively ducked when a second fist swung at his face. Russell slammed his right shoulder into Alphonse's stomach and pulled him away from the picnic table to avoid catching Fletcher in the crossfire. Alphonse gripped the back of Russell's shirt to hopefully shake his hold and throw him, but Russell slipped out of his shirt and backed away a few feet.

Gathered students stepped out of the way as Russell lost his footing and landed on his backside. He kicked Alphonse's feet out from under him, sending the boy's face into the earth. When Russell scrambled to stand, Alphonse grabbed his ankle to prevent escape. Alphonse quickly launched himself forward to tackle Russell to be flat on the ground and began throwing punches at the boy's skull. Dazed, Russell wringed his hands around Alphonse's neck as tight as he could in hopes of forcing the boy into unconsciousness as defense.

Meanwhile Edward neared the bustling crowd of students curiously. He spotted Winry attempting to reach the center of the group, but she could not make progress in the dense crowd. "Stop it," she shrieked. "Leave him alone! _Al_!"

At the sound of his brother's name—believing Alphonse was the victim of the unseen scuffle—Edward forced his way through the students, pausing when he saw Fletcher crying at the two desperately. He watched Alphonse pummeling Russell's face viciously for several seconds before the scenario registered in his mind.

Shoving students out of his path, Edward sprinted behind his brother to jerk him backward by the collar of his shirt. He glimpsed discolored, patchy skin at the shoulder blade for an instant around what he recognized to be an injection site. He released the shirt to hide the hives and to sidestep Alphonse's fist as he swung at the anonymous interference. Edward pinned Alphonse by his upper arms as he turned to attack the interruption, still in a blind rage.

Alphonse's face was deep red from the anger and lack of oxygen. Tears stained his cheeks, and he continued to gasp for air as he attempted to focus on his change in surroundings. "Let go!" he demanded, thrashing wildly in his brother's grip.

Shaking him slightly, Edward barked, "Al, calm down!"

Upon focusing his gaze on the source of the order, Edward absorbed the sight of his brother's fully-dilated pupils. He had no doubt the dilation was a result of the substance causing the reaction in the injection site and emotional imbalance. Alphonse's arms vibrated with adrenaline like a car motor under his fingers.

Alphonse attempted to pull away, but he stopped when his blood-covered hands came into view. His enraged growls turned into choked sobs as he stared in disbelief at his hands. "Wh--…" Tears ran freely down to his chin as he desperately looked to his brother. "What's happening to me?" he whispered.

He sunk to the ground, staring in horror at the blood. "What've I done?"

Edward released Alphonse's arms to wrap his own arms around his brother's torso, one arm around his waist and the other hooked around his neck. He watched Fletcher fuss over Russell's bleeding nose and mouth with the abandoned shirt in his arms from over Alphonse's shoulder. "When did Dad give you those shots?" Edward muttered in Alphonse's ear.

"While you were in detention yesterday," he blubbered quietly into his brother's shirt.

Grinding his teeth at the news, Edward whispered, "I'm sorry, Alphonse… This is all my fault…"

"What's going on here?" Mustang's voice boomed over the chatter of students. He breezed through the crowd with Hawkeye at his heels to arrive at the scene. The blood caught his attention first.

"Tringham," Mustang called. "You all right?"

Russell defiantly would not allow his watery eyes to spill over as he cradled his nose. "I think my nose is broken."

"Go to the infirmary and let Dr. Marcoh clean you up. Then, we'll talk," Mustang instructed.

While Fletcher escorted Russell to the infirmary, Mustang turned his attention to the Elric brothers. He expected Edward to be at the scene from reading reports about his frequent scuffles with the Tringham boy, but he was taken by surprise at the sight of blood on Alphonse's hands. He took note of Alphonse's shocked facial expression, and he rotated the two to face Edward. Although Edward appeared more collected, Mustang saw remorse that melted into a look of defiance when addressed.

"Can you explain what happened here?" Mustang asked.

While Hawkeye scattered the crowd of students, Mustang realized he would not receive an answer in the near future and dismissed the Elrics to the infirmary. Edward entered first and Marcoh announced, "I should've known you wouldn't be far behind!"

Marcoh disposed of his contaminated rubber gloves. "So where did he get you, Ed?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "It's Alphonse."

"Alphonse?" he repeated in bewilderment. Marcoh watched Edward lead his stunned younger brother into the room. He scanned Alphonse over and instructed, "Go wash your hands, and I'll patch up your neck. Ed, take a seat by Fletcher over there."

"My… neck?" Alphonse retreated to the sink to see what trauma inflicted his neck. He felt the pain moments before landing eyes on the bruising flesh. Blood trailed over the skin where Russell's nails had desperately clawed in defense. Stray slashes across his face began to burn vengefully as natural salty oils seeped inside.

Edward watched in silence; not daring to ask if Russell's nose was, indeed, broken. Russell nursed his nose with a pack of ice, hissing quietly when he accidently jostled his nose. Fletcher clenched his fists at his knees and stared at his brother fretfully.

"Fletcher, are you okay?" Edward asked quietly.

His head bobbed jerkily in confirmation. "Yeah… But why did Al do that? He just… went off all of a sudden." Fletcher looked down to watch his hands fidget with the seam of his pants. "I still can't believe that it happened… It's like it was somebody else: like it wasn't Alphonse."

"That's because it wasn't…" Edward muttered.

**[AN]** A couple notes about the chapter. First of all, before any of you can declare I have a terribly sick imagination and/or I hate cats; believe it or not, the part about the kittens being drowned is actually partially true. An elderly man in my town told my mom the story once about how, whenever there were too many cats on his farm when he was little, he and his brother had to take them to the river and drown them so they wouldn't get diseased THEN die. =( It made me very sad to hear that story... And seeing as this is possibly the most horrific story I've ever conceived, I thought it would fit (especially for the purpose of Hoho's experiments). And as for the fight, I'm not very good at coming up with details for fight scenes so--again, believe it or not--I got most of the detail ideas from a fight that happened at my school earlier this school year. I wasn't there, but I took aspects from the fight (such as the shirt being taken off haha) and worked it in here. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Please leave reviews/comments! =D **[/AN]**


	6. Chapter 5 Scream like Children

**Chapter 5 – Scream like Children**

"I've spoken with the Tringham boys and both admit Russell fueled the situation; but they also said that you, Alphonse, threw the first punch," Mustang declared. "They, as well as your teachers, have told me this is as far out-of-character as it gets for you."

Alphonse watched the principal in silence, sneaking glances to his left at his brother occasionally. He ignored the presences of the counselor and vice principal in the office.

"Is this true?" Mustang prompted.

"Yes, sir," Alphonse quickly murmured.

Observing the silent duo for a moment, Mustang released a deep exhale. "Given the circumstances, the boys agreed not to press charges, so I didn't call the police. But don't think we're taking this lightly."

Indicating to Hughes, the principal announced, "Both of you will meet with Mr. Hughes separately every day after school and you will serve detention with me."

"For how long?" Edward asked. "Two weeks?"

"Until Mr. Hughes believes you can handle your loss," Mustang answered. "For today, we thought it'd be best if you went home to have some time to cool off."

"Is there anyone at home to give you a ride?" Hawkeye asked.

Edward shrugged. "Maybe."

Mustang and Hawkeye exchanged glances before nodding to Hughes, and the two left the room. Hughes moved to the principal's desk to sit on the front casually. He eyed the boys in turn before he sighed. "I know this is hard for you--"

"Don't treat us like we're kids," Edward snapped. "If that's all you're going to do, you can stop right now."

Folding his arms leisurely across his abdomen, Hughes asked, "What do you _want_ me to say? 'That wasn't very nice to beat the living daylights out of Russell. Promise you'll never do it again'? I don't think so."

"This is stupid," Edward muttered.

"Look, Ed," Hughes barked. "I don't make the rules; but I know how to bend them. I talked the principal out of calling the police; the least you can do is tell me what's going on. I've known you guys since I moved here five years ago. You know you can talk to me and Gracia any time. Besides, I'm sure Elicia would love to see you, too." He pulled a photograph out of his front shirt pocket to hand to the boys.

Both recognized the woman as Hughes' wife Gracia, her pixie-cut hair lengthened nearly to her shoulders since either brother had seen her. She kneeled affectionately next to a little girl with sandy-blond hair like her mother, hair pulled in fluffy pigtails. In the young girl's arms; a giant, white teddy bear showed no complaints to the anaconda hug around the waist. She grinned at the camera happily like the joy of the universe was stuffed inside her petite body.

Alphonse opened his mouth to speak, but he remained silent when he caught the sight of his brother's warning glance. He diverted his gaze to his knees to avoid speaking up and, consequently, disobeying Edward's orders.

"She's gotten big," Edward noted as he passed the photo back to the counselor.

"I know; isn't she the cutest thing?" he swooned. Hughes kissed the photograph before returning the paper to his pocket.

The man stared at Edward, waiting for a response. Edward finally surrendered, "It's just been a stressful week with everything. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again." He glanced to his brother and added, "I promise."

"You're one to talk, Ed. How many fights have you been in?" Hughes lifted an eyebrow accusingly.

"This is different," he retorted.

"How?"

Mustang reentered the office after a light knock on the door as warning. All eyes in the room turned to him momentarily before returning to their previous positions. He watched the students' gazes quickly fall to the floor.

"Your ride will be here soon," Mustang announced. "Let's go get your things."

First escorting the boys to their lockers and back, Mustang waited in his office with the two for their ride's arrival. After fifteen long minutes, Edward turned inquisitively to Alphonse to ask, "When do you think Teacher is gonna get here? She's usually here by now--"

A knock echoed hollowly through the room. "Come in," Mustang called.

The door opened slowly to reveal a young man with long blond hair. "I'm here to pick up the Elrics."

Although Alphonse remained silent, Edward leapt from his seat. "Envy," Edward exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?" He ignored the principal's reaction to his cursing.

"I need to take you home," Envy replied simply.

"I don't want to."

"Your dad wants to talk to you."

Mustang watched as Edward appeared to mentally shrink away from the words. He imagined him like a dog flattening his ears back and tucking his tail between his legs. Edward's defiant expression wavered to one of fear for an instant before returning to the previous façade.

"He can talk to me later," Edward declared. "We'll go to Teacher's house." He watched Envy's stoic figure in silence while he thought out his options. He turned to see his younger brother's pale face staring back at him. Alphonse looked increasingly ill, worrying Edward.

"Al?" Edward consulted.

"I just want to rest, brother…" he muttered.

Biting down on his lower lip roughly, Edward huffed in acquiescence. "Okay, let's go."

Mustang made a mental note that Edward slid Alphonse's backpack over his back before stringing his own school bag across his shoulders. Meanwhile, the principal attempted to decode his sensation of having seen Envy before—excluding the funeral service. He refrained from asking as the three filed out of the office, and he pushed the thought from his mind to continue the day's work.

Outside, Edward and Alphonse huddled in the backseat of their father's car while Envy climbed in the driver's seat. As the vehicle lurched into motion, Edward stared out the front window aimlessly since no one occupied the passenger seat to obstruct his view. He watched the scenery pass until he heard Alphonse moan quietly at his side.

"Are you okay, Al?" Edward asked.

Alphonse's eyes were tightly shut and one hand clutched his head. "I feel like I'm spinning… I think I'm going to be sick…"

"Don't you _dare_ throw up in here!" Envy snapped.

Edward watched his brother wobble dizzily and he put an arm around Alphonse's shoulders for stabilization. "Close your eyes and try to sleep or something until we get home."

Sensing Alphonse's increasing instability, Edward shifted his school bag in his lap to lay flat like a pillow. "Lie down: you'll feel better," Edward instructed.

Alphonse crashed into his brother's lap exhaustedly, not bothering to attempt a graceful landing. Upon closer examination, Edward spotted more skin discoloration peeking out from beneath Alphonse's shirt. When he reached to peel the cloth away for further investigation, Edward's fingers brushed across the cold clammy skin.

Pressing lightly on the discolored skin, Edward asked, "Does that hurt?"

His only response was a slumbering sigh.

**oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO****oOoOoO**

Wrath buried his fingers in the forest of fur on Paninya's stomach to rub playfully. She attempted to grab his hand in protest with little success and yowled in warning.

"Don't tease the cat, Wrath," his mother warned from her place at the kitchen table, coffee in hand.

Releasing the animal, Paninya scurried to the side of a large black-and-white dog. She ducked behind his auto-mail foreleg while he watched curiously and thumped his tail against the floor. He returned his attention to the Elric boys whose hands were stroking his head and back in anticipation.

"Den, you're such a goof," Alphonse noted.

Pinako swatted away the dog's bouncing tail as she found the energetic fur swish in her vision. "Wrath, go play with Den outside so he's out of the way."

Watching her connect each wire from the new auto-mail leg to the base, Wrath whined, "But I want to watch!"

Pulling the wire cutters from her teeth, Winry advised, "It's nothing exciting." She replaced the tool in her mouth to continue her work on Edward's shoulder.

Izumi turned in her seat to command, "Go outside, Wrath. Alphonse, go with them."

Alphonse looked over to protest, but could not form a reply to her firm expression. He turned to his brother in hopes of an objection, but Edward's face was too twisted in a pained grimace to respond. Despite his desire to remain at his brother's side for the procedure; he crawled to his feet, pulled on his outerwear, and dragged Den and Wrath out into the snowy yard with him.

"You should be able to get around a little easier with this," Pinako declared. "It's not only more up-to-date and lighter, but we fixed the measurements, too. It's hard to believe this is your first upgrade since the accident!"

Winry removed the wire cutters from her mouth to snip a few pieces of wire carefully. "Do you remember how this works, Ed?"

"Not really… You guys had me on so many pain killers, I can't remember squat," Edward announced. He turned to Izumi. "And thanks for picking up the tab on this, Teacher. You really didn't have to--"

"Oh, yes, I did. You're long past due for this, and your father is much too busy to worry about it. You'll just have to help me and Sig at the butcher shop a couple times a week after school before you go home."

"Yes, ma'am." Edward jerked to his left with a pained hiss. "Winry, could you stop messing with that?"

"Sorry, the wire isn't sitting right," she muttered.

"Quit whining, you baby," Pinako scolded.

"Just be quiet, you old bean," Edward argued.

"At least I'm bigger than a bean!"

"I'm taller than you-- Ow!" He rubbed his head where Winry clubbed him with her wrench. "What was _that_ for?" he cried.

"Because you're being ridiculous, and you're moving too much." Winry waved her wrench in his face threateningly.

"You know we're just joking."

"That's not the point."

Pinako set her tools aside out of her path. "Are you ready at your end yet, Winry?"

Thrusting her tools into her tool belt, Winry replied, "All set!"

"I'm sure you remember this part," Pinako assumed.

"Vaguely…" he replied with his voice full of dread. "I was hoping it just _seemed_ more painful since I was little…"

Pinako glanced at her granddaughter before muttering, "Not really…" low enough to escape his hearing.

"Ready, Grams?" Winry asked as her hand gripped the built-in retractable handle readily.

She grabbed the handle built in the leg and nodded. "One… two… three!"

The mechanics twisted the handles swiftly in practiced unison. As each nerve actively attached at once, Edward bit down a bloodcurdling scream of pain and his newly-attached limbs writhed with the rest of his body in agony. His head tossed back and a screech reverberated within his throat despite his attempts to remain silent. His fingers and toes curled reflexively and his breath grew jagged.

Edward vaguely felt three sets of hands transport him to the couch to lie down. He felt his feet elevate to increase the blood flow to his head and dissipate his vertigo. He heard the door open distantly and his younger brother barrel to his side in alarm.

Winry and Izumi dragged Alphonse away from his brother to prevent contact so Edward would not be jostled. Pinako shooed him outside once again despite his desperate pleas to remain at Edward's side. Winry fetched a cool damp cloth to lay over Edward's eyes and sweating forehead; she sat on the arm of the couch to monitor his condition.

Pinako propped her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "That's odd…" She cleared the work area, deep in thought.

"What is?" Izumi called as she resumed drinking her coffee in the kitchen.

The little old woman gathered her tools and ventured to the kitchen. While pouring her own cup of coffee, she replied, "He's actually handling it _better_ than last time. I thought without the morphine…"

"Well, he _has_ gotten older since last time--"

"No, that's not it," she interrupted. "Attaching auto-mail isn't like getting a shot where it hurts when you're a kid and not as bad when you're older. It's excruciatingly painful: all of your nerves are connecting to the auto-mail at once."

Noting the fact Pinako had no auto-mail limbs, herself, Izumi suspected the woman to be exaggerating. "How painful?"

Retrieving her pipe, Pinako informed, "Usually, it's soldiers that come here because of a rough battle in Ishbal. They each tell me all the gruesome ways they lost their arm or their leg: infection, ambush, explosions—the works. They brag about how it didn't bother them. Their buddies even tell me how they shrugged it off like it was nothing."

She struck a match and lit the end of her long slender pipe and inhaled deeply through the contraption. "Hardened war heroes. But once we attach that auto-mail, they each cry and scream like children."

Izumi stared at Pinako in mild disbelief—the little woman smoked her pipe as if she did not notice—before shifting her gaze to her student on the couch as he fought to level his breathing.


	7. Chapter 6 Sea of Darkness

**Chapter 6 – Sea of Darkness**

Slowly regaining consciousness, Edward's eyes attempted to focus on the ceiling of his father's dimly-lit laboratory. His entire body ached vengefully, with the exception of his auto-mail limbs. He saw his father's shadow towering over the exam table, where Envy undoubtedly lay, at the other end of the extensive laboratory. He dragged his left hand slowly to his abdomen to trace carefully over the fresh stitches, forcibly ignoring the pain the movement produced. Desperate to leave the room, he eyed the exit to calculate the distance and the effort the journey would require. The leather restraints shuffled to the side as he slunk off the table to the floor.

His left hand clutched at his abdomen for support while he used his metal limbs to crawl slowly to the door. He sat at the foot of the thick soundproof door to use his weight to heave open his exit. Once at the bottom of the stairs, safely beyond the confines of the underground Hell, he pulled the door shut behind him quietly.

No light illuminated the house, making his world little more than a sea of darkness. Edward fumbled in the dark to each stair and hauled himself up one by one. Every moment tore at his innards in protest, begging him to stop. At the top of the stairs, his limbs buckled and he collapsed in a heavy sweat to catch his breath.

"Al," he whined weakly. "Alphonse?"

Silence roared in his ears, so he reluctantly proceeded to crawl across the floor. When his hand collided blindly with an invisible display hutch, he used the furniture as leverage to stumble to his feet. His legs dragged like cement blocks while he slunk along. When he finally reached the bedroom door, he pushed the barrier open; and the first step he managed knocked him to the floor.

Edward yelped in pain and clutched his arms to his abdomen. Blood oozed from the stitches and the site throbbed mercilessly. He heard his brother stir in his bed. Waiting several torturously long moments in hopes of not waking Alphonse, Edward shallowed his labored breaths and gathered his bearings before dragging himself to his bed. Unfortunately his attempts to climb onto the bed pressed the mattress into the stitches and the pain scrambled his focus, loosening his grip and causing him to sink to the floor with the blanket in tow.

The noise jolted Alphonse awake. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"Go back to sleep," Edward gasped. He listened to the blankets ruffle, indicating his brother's movement to sit at attention.

"Brother, what's wrong?" Alphonse flicked on the lamp to find Edward sprawled on his stomach on the floor with the quilt from the neighboring bed rumpled around him. He leapt out of bed and tumbled to the floor in a panic. "What happened?"

"I fell, that's all," Edward panted.

Alphonse placed a hand on his brother's shoulder to turn him over, but he immediately released his grip when Edward gasped in pain. "Sorry!" His eyes scanned over his brother anxiously before he asked belatedly, "What'd I do?"

"Nothing… it's just my stomach."

Alphonse tugged the remainder of the blanket off the bed while strategically using the soft material to gently roll Edward over on his back. He peeled away the blanket from the sweaty skin until he saw the vibrant, red blood staring at him. Replacing the blanket to restrain his creeping nausea, he offered, "I'll help you into bed."

He wedged an arm under Edward's neck and under his thighs to lift. Alphonse flinched when he heard his brother cry out in pain and beg him to stop, but he continued to heave Edward on the bed carefully. As he watched Edward press his auto-mail palm into his sweating forehead and hiss in agony, Alphonse situated the blankets fretfully.

"Do you want me to get the first-aid kit from Envy's room?" Alphonse whispered, desperate to be of help to his agonized brother.

"No," Edward groaned. "But are there any more blankets? I'm freezing."

Alphonse felt the winter night's chill settling on his skin through his clothes; and he could only imagine how the cold was amplifying on his sweating, immobile, shirtless brother. He glanced to his bed and realized the only blankets he could lend Edward would leave his bed naked. To gauge how cold Edward was, Alphonse pressed his palm to his brother's exposed collarbone. He momentarily thought he stuck his hand in a hidden snow bank until the skin warmed slightly beneath his touch.

He retreated to his bed to collect the thick quilt and returned to Edward's bed to climb in beside him. Alphonse lay on his side and tucked the blanket around himself and Edward after he coaxed the metal arm to lower. Alphonse kept one arm flat against his side while the other acted as his pillow.

Edward cringed at the movement his brother inflicted on the bed as he settled in, but he remained silent. Alphonse waited for the bed to still to ask, "Is your stomach all right?"

He released his unconsciously held breath. "It's fine." Shivering beneath the blankets, Edward was increasingly thankful for his brother's actions.

"At least tomorrow's Saturday," Alphonse muttered optimistically.

"Yeah," Edward breathed through his clattering teeth.

Alphonse stretched his free arm across Edward's chest to lock in his battling body heat and prevent the cold from invading under the blankets by holding them down with the act. Edward's shivers slowed as the minutes ticked by.

"Thanks, Al," Edward shuddered in his exhaustion.

When he received no response, he glanced over to find Alphonse already fast asleep. Edward smiled inwardly and battled his aching abdomen for sleep.

**oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oO**

Edward shifted uncomfortably under the principal's scrutinizing gaze. He hoped Alphonse's session with the counselor would soon end, announcing dismissal for the day. Unable to endure the silent stare much longer, Edward asked, "What?"

"Are you finished with your homework?"

"Yes," he replied monotonously.

"Why haven't you pulled out something else to work on? I've let it pass for some time now, but enough is enough. I will _not_ have you just _sit_ here."

Edward glared at Mustang, but he surrendered. Due to the procedure on his abdomen the previous Friday night, he had caught little sleep and the day had drained what energy he had managed to store. No strength to argue, he rummaged through his bag in pursuit of busywork to satisfy the man's wishes.

When he found no unfinished work, he reluctantly withdrew a stack of pre-cut paper. The act made Edward feel sick, as the last paper flower he made was before his mother's death, but he robotically folded little roses. After three roses, he realized the intense eyes had returned and he set down the paper.

"What is it now?"

Mustang stared at the roses without reply for several moments before he rotated in his seat and cleared his throat. "Nothing," he grunted.

Glaring at the principal irritably, Edward returned to folding roses. After six roses, he attached paper stems and leaves. As he prepared to fold the final stem-and-leaf, Alphonse and Hughes entered the room. Edward gathered his possessions into his bag, but he left the roses at the desk.

Alphonse crossed the room and reached for his brother's burden only to find Edward snatch the bag first. Edward strung the messenger bag across his shoulders for the bag to rest on the back of his left hip. Alphonse pouted at his brother's stubbornness.

"We have to go to Teacher's shop today," Edward muttered. He hobbled slowly out of the classroom, much of his exertion laboring to mask his discomfort from the school officials.

Alphonse scurried out behind him with brief farewell to the counselor and principal.

Mustang did not wait for the two to disappear to jump out of his seat and stride to the abandoned desk. He swiped one of the paper roses in his hand to hold close to his eyes and examine thoroughly. Upon reaching his conclusion, he barked, "Maes, close that door."

The man followed orders, but he asked nonetheless, "What is it?"

"What does this look like to you?"

Lifting an eyebrow inquisitively, Hughes approached the desk. "It looks like the flowers you and Trisha used to make."

"No," Mustang huffed in frustration. He scrambled back to Schiezka's desk—whose classroom was presently vacant for the detention—to retrieve a glass of water he had supplied himself, but little water remained in the glass. "Remember those pictures from the autopsy?"

"Yeah, what about them?"

He returned to the desk and scooped the stem-less rose into his hand to sprinkle water from the glass on the fragile art. The delicately-folded paper quickly crumpled under the stress of the liquid but retained the basic shape. Mustang thrust the soggy rose in Hughes' face.

"_This_ is what was in her hand!"

"Why would she make one of those before she died…?"

"That's just it!" Mustang set the water glass down to free his hand for gesticulation. He prodded to his head first to demonstrate and waved his hands around as he spoke. "She had a frontal lobotomy, right? So if what you say is true, then theoretically, she wouldn't have been able to make the decision to make one. And, even if she had, she would have kept making them and wouldn't have stopped because she couldn't make the decision!"

"Then who made it?"

Pausing for a moment to think, Mustang muttered, "Hoenheim didn't know how… he thought it wasn't a necessary skill…" A thought hit him like a high-speed train. "I taught Edward how to make them just a few days before she turned up at the river."

"Hold it," Hughes interjected. "You're not suggesting _Ed_ killed her, are you?"

Uninterrupted by the question, Mustang thought aloud, "He didn't show much emotion at the news about it… _or_ at the funeral…"

"Trust me: he's never been one to show emotion. He hates when people worry about him," Hughes defended indignantly.

"No, I don't think he did it," Mustang assured belatedly. "But if Ed made the flower, he had to have seen her before she died. He might know what happened, at least."

Hughes turned the prospect over in his mind carefully. "Now that you say that… if Alphonse hadn't seen his mom since she disappeared, by his age, he shouldn't have remembered much about her; so he shouldn't have been that upset… right?"

Squeezing the excess water from the flower back into the glass, Mustang declared, "The boys know something. Get a team together to investigate this."

***

Alphonse passed a half-pound of plastic-wrapped bologna to Edward in the two-person assembly line. As Alphonse weighed the next half-pound, Edward wrapped the bologna in paper and labeled the bundle.

Edward ignored Wrath's surprise entrance and set the package of meat aside for transfer to the walk-in cooler. He wiped off a small puddle of condensation from his work space and prepared for the next package. The shop had been hired to provide for a grand New Year's party's supply of meat. To increase production further, Izumi had been informed the previous morning of an upcoming wedding in need of the shop's products, as well. Every available employee—Izumi, Sig, Wrath, Edward, and Alphonse—were required to fulfill the orders by the deadline and simultaneously run the shop's counter on a day-to-day basis.

Wrath, however, used Edward and Alphonse's presence as a license to goof off. Energy built up from sitting quietly in classes all day leaked out his skin and caused him to bounce all over the shop like a rubber ball. In his adventures, he discovered a homeless mouse and assumed the duty of capturing the creature.

Darting around the kitchen, Wrath mentally blocked every obstacle except the immoveable furniture to focus on his pursuit. His arm nicked Alphonse's calf, nearly knocking the leg out from under him.

Alphonse sidestepped Wrath's next advance quickly to avoid collision. He resumed his position as Wrath sped away after the mouse, finished wrapping the stack of bologna, and prepared the area for the next meat in need of packaging.

Edward carried the pile of packages to the walk-in cooler. Setting the packages neatly in the area assigned for the large order, he returned to his post in the kitchen. He climbed on a small stepping-stool to reach the powerful cleaning agent required to cleanse the counter when changing meats being handled to avoid cross-contamination.

He did not see Wrath re-enter the kitchen and bolt to the counter he and Alphonse worked. Wrath barreled past Edward, accidentally knocking him off balance into the counter top. When Wrath heard Edward cry out, he halted and turned to apologize but froze.

Edward's left hand cradled his abdomen while his right hand covered his mouth. Eyes clenched shut, he grimaced with a stifled cough. He drew a labored gasp and chocked back similar coughs.

Dropping the cleaning materials in his hands, Alphonse rushed to his brother's side and fussed like a mother hen. "Ed! Are you okay?" He looked to Wrath desperately, hoping the boy had witnessed the source of Edward's distress while his head had been turned. "What--?"

"What happened?" Izumi boomed.

"I didn't do anything!" Wrath yelped.

Izumi marched to Edward's side and forced him to step down from the stool and sit. One arm stretched across his chest, over his arm, to grip his shoulders to maintain his stability. Her other hand hovered over his back. She watched the agony etch deeper into his face with each cough.

"What started this?" she demanded.

In fear of Izumi's wrath for perhaps the first time in his life, her son hesitantly stammered, "I-I barely touched him! I just b-bumped into him, I swear!"

"Just breathe, Edward," she soothed, although the words sounded like an order.

Izumi ordered Alphonse to retrieve an empty bucket as she noticed Edward's skin grow paler while his cheeks flushed, forming the appearance of windburn. Once the bucket slid in front of Edward, Izumi attempted to pry his hand from his face to clear his airways.

She released his wrist the moment she spotted blood dripping from the plastic glove. Wrath noticed, as well, and panic struck him like a lightning bolt. "Is that… the red death?" Wrath whispered hoarsely, taking a step back in hopes of escaping the suspected illness.

Edward slowed his breathing, causing quiet wheezes with each inhale, in hopes of reducing his need to cough; and he hesitantly removed his hand from his mouth. His chest barely moved, because he did not dare breathe too deeply to not stir up another coughing fit.

Blood drooled over his lips into the bucket. He braced himself with his right hand against the bucket, despite Izumi's unwavering grip. Edward's stomach twisted painfully until he began to wretch the pooling blood from the organ to the bucket with his lunch.

"Wrath, get your father," she barked. "_Now_!"

While Wrath scurried out of the kitchen, Izumi allowed Alphonse to assume care of Edward; and she returned to the main area of the shop to shoo out customers and change the open/closed sign to 'closed.' She tossed off her white work body-apron next to the cash register.

When she returned to the kitchen, Sig was gathering items he thought would be necessary to transport Edward comfortably. Wrath stood warily in the corner.

"Wrath, help Alphonse," Izumi ordered, although she knew the boy did not need—and very likely did not want—assistance with his brother. She wanted Wrath to not be afraid of a frightening situation—or to be a useless spectator during one.

"But--"

"He doesn't have tuberculosis. Get over there."

Wrath scampered to Edward and Alphonse without further protest.

**[AN]** I was hoping to get this typed and posted for my 18th birthday yesterday, but I guess that didn't happen... At least I got it posted today, though! Although I'm not certain of its validity, according to a website (again, not certain how exactly "official" it is) claiming to be the "Official FMA Fan Site," today is Ed's birthday! He is 111 years old this year! Just so everyone is aware of a few notes: 1. I might change Misty's name to Paninya (the name of the girl Winry meets in Rush Valley--episode 26 titled "Her Reason," I don't know when they go there in the manga) later. 2. Don't be surprised if other revisions are made to the story, large or small. 3. Offsite, I am holding a contest for alternate endings (when the time arises). If anyone is interested, send me an inbox message for details. **[/AN]**


	8. Chapter 7 Big Brothers

**Chapter 7 – Big Brothers**

Winry tiptoed to Edward's room and cracked the door open. To not draw attention to her entry from the adults, she slid through the door sideways and closed the door softly. Marcoh had not turned off the lights when he left the room, so the room was still brightly lit for work.

Pillows piled at the head of the bed, protruding from under Edward's torso so he lay at an incline. He gazed blankly up at the ceiling, and Winry momentarily wondered if he had fallen unconscious again. Alphonse sat in a chair to the left of his brother's bed, near the towering I.V. line. His arms were folded on the mattress' edge at Edward's waist; Alphonse's head used the arms as a cushion. The hours of waiting anxiously had taken a toll.

"Winry?" Edward muttered.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. "Yeah?"

His head tilted forward a fraction. "What are you still doing up?"

Her right arm crossed her stomach to rub at her left olecranon distractedly and diverted her gaze to the floor. "I couldn't sleep…" Winry eyed Alphonse as his chest rose and fell evenly before she asked, "Is he asleep?"

Edward glanced down at his brother's face, slightly exposed through his arms and turned in Edward's direction. Dark shadows rested under his eyes and his chest rose and fell softly. "Yeah, he's out."

"He stayed up as long as he could…"

"How long has he been there?"

"They let him in two, maybe three, hours ago."

He watched Alphonse's eyelids flutter within his slumber and still once again. Edward noticed how young his brother appeared, every feature soft like an innocent child. In his mind, the face transformed into the insane image he saw during the ruthless fight with Russell induced by the anonymous drugs. He could not help but feel the two images were not the same person. The caring younger brother Edward knew and loved could never hold such primal rage. The vicious image quickly melted into the pure horror Alphonse felt upon realizing his actions, wrenching at Edward's heart further.

"How are you feeling?"

His head turned to Winry at his right, unaware when she ventured closer. He discovered his eyebrows had furrowed and his lips frowned during his reverie when the muscles released sorely. Although his innards felt like the result of a blender's puréed contents slammed by a train, he replied, "Fine."

A relieved smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad."

Winry pointed to an open space on the bed. "Is it all right if I sit here?"

"Sure."

She moved slowly to not jostle the bed and neither cause Edward additional pain nor wake Alphonse. Once she settled, Winry glanced to the door. "Doctor Marcoh will probably come back in soon…" she noted.

"What time is it?"

"About three-thirty," she answered. Staring down at her hands for a moment, she asked, "So… what exactly… happened?"

"Nothing," he replied dismissively.

She glared interrogatively. "Don't give me that; I'm not stupid." Winry did not expect the slight flinch in Edward's face for assuming he intended to insult her person. "How did you get hurt like that? Grams, Marcoh, and Mrs. Curtis won't tell me anything; and you won't, either!" Tears glistened in the edges of her eyes, refusing to fall; her concern intensified when he refused to meet her gaze. "Do you have any idea how it feels to be the only one who doesn't know what's going on?"

He could not lie and insist her worry was for naught. On the other hand, images of his mother the day after she learned of Hoenheim's experiments continued to haunt him. Blank stare, fresh stitches… "You worry too much," he huffed. "There was an accident on the farm and it opened when Wrath bumped me and I hit the counter."

"What kind of accident could have caused _that_?" she cried.

"It's none of your business, Winry," he answered calmly due to lack of a convincing excuse.

"You _always_ say that! It _is_ my business!"

"You're going to wake Al."

"If you get hurt like this living on a farm, you shouldn't live there! You could--"

Marcoh opened the door with his medical bag in tow, silencing the argument. Dark sacks hung below his eyes from exhaustion. His tone held no anger, only grandfatherly concern and curiosity. "What's all this about?"

Sauntering to Edward's I.V. drip, Marcoh asked, "Winry, what are you doing in here? Didn't your grandmother tell you to go on to bed?"

"Um," she stuttered. "I'm sorry, Doctor."

"Edward needs to rest, and so do you: you still have to go to school tomorrow." Marcoh withdrew a small vial from his bag with a sterilized needle.

"What's that for?" Edward asked with mild curiosity.

"It's to help you sleep," Marcoh replied as he prepared the dosage.

"We'll try to get a hold of Hoenheim again in the morning to see what he wants to do," Marcoh noted. He plunged the needle in the available I.V. port. "Off to bed with you, Winry." He noticed her gaze on Alphonse. "Al will be fine in here."

Winry jerked a nod. "Yes, sir. Good-night, Ed."

As his world began to spin and sleep invaded his body quickly like a virus; Edward managed a garbled, groggy, "'Night."

**oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oO**

"Boys, it's so good to see you!" Gracia squealed as she extended her arms around her guests. "I hear you've been causing quite a fuss at your place, Ed."

Edward shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and forced a cheery smile. "It's been a heck of a month-and-a-half, to say the least."

"Maes tells me you've even been keeping up with your schoolwork." The woman ushered the two inside and directed to the designated areas for shoes and coats.

"I've been getting a lot of help from Winry and Alfonse Heidrich," Edward replied hastily.

"Yes, yes," she dismissed. "But it's still quite an accomplishment in your state. I'm glad you're doing so well, though. Elicia was _so_ excited when I told her you were going to try to come."

Hughes sprinted into the foyer with a flock of little girls at his heels. "Izumi let you out of bed, Edward?" he chuckled as he passed.

The girls squealed and giggled in their chase, each carrying a toy princess scepter high in the air. "Get him!" one shrieked.

As the mob disappeared to the next room, Edward directed his thumb to the last place he saw the group. "Uhhh…?"

Gracia shrugged and nodded in a single motion. "The dragon stole one of the princess' cookies."

"Ah," Edward replied, his head nodding to the side in understanding.

Alphonse hung his and his brother's coats; he held up a box wrapped in sparkly, pink paper. "Where do you want this, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'll put it with the rest for you," she offered with an outstretched hand. Accepting the gift, she suggested, "Why don't you guys go on to the kitchen? We're going to have cake soon, but you can munch on some sandwiches on the counter. I think I might have to rescue the dragon."

Alphonse hovered over his brother during the journey to the kitchen. Although Edward had been declared to be in the clear from internal bleeding by Marcoh, he could see from years of experience how every movement caused him pain. Edward's steps were slower; and any abdominal movement was structured, cautious, and stiff to the trained eye. He wondered how much action Edward could endure for the day.

While Alphonse snagged a sandwich, Edward fetched a glass of water. By the time Alphonse picked off the last bite of his food, Hughes trotted into the kitchen. Colors were splattered all over his face in a rainbow of washable marker; the smiling, winded man migrated to the sink to scrub his skin.

"It's not a birthday party unless you're almost raped by small children, right, Ed?" Hughes declared while rubbing his cheek with a wet wash rag.

The brothers laughed under the mask of their fists like preparing to cough. Edward concluded, "No one'll ever dare kidnap _those_ princesses!"

"I know, right?" Hughes ran the cloth under the water once again before proceeding to scrub his forehead. "So where's Winry today? I thought she was going to come, too."

"Last-minute client came in. She's trying to help Grams get the leg finished by tomorrow so the guy doesn't miss his train ride back to Rush Valley," Edward explained.

"Why would someone come to a tiny town like Resembool for auto-mail if they're going to the auto-mail capital of the world?"

Edward smirked and his brother grinned. "Even though she's got a quick temper, Winry's the best mechanic there is," Edward announced. "Combined with Pinako's speed and experience, you can't find better auto-mail than theirs: not even in the big cities!"

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"That's because Winry would beat him with her wrench if he said anything bad," Alphonse teased.

"She just charges you an arm and a leg, though, right?" Hughes added.

Edward laughed sarcastically and sneered, "Very funny."

Hughes grinned at his witty joke, despite the lack of an agreeing audience. "I thought you'd think so." Wringing out the rag routinely, he rubbed the cloth at his neck. "So are you feeling well enough to come back to school?"

"After I'm done here, I have to go see Doctor Marcoh and see what he says. If I can't go Monday, I'll be back in the next couple days."

"That's good to hear," Hughes announced. He turned to a glass cabinet door to inspect his reflection for remaining streaks of color. "I've been meaning to ask you, Ed: What happened, anyway? All I heard is there was an accident."

Edward drew a swig from his glass and smiled awkwardly. "I was a major klutz. I was bending over a barbed-wire fence to pick up a bucket, but I lost my balance and one of the prongs cut me clean-open."

"Jesus Christ!" gasped Hughes. "What did you do?"

"Al got our dad and he stitched me up. Wrath accidentally bumped me into the counter at the butcher shop and caused internal bleeding and stuff so Teacher called Marcoh."

"Can I take a look?"

Setting down his glass, Edward carefully lifted the front hem of his shirt with both hands. His hands stopped at the bottom of his rib cage to reveal the healing site but conceal his chest. "It was a pretty clean cut."

"_I'll_ say," Hughes agreed. Before the boy could lower his shirt, Hughes mentally noted the inconsistencies of Edward's explanation to the injury. The most significant disparity was perhaps the most obvious—or seemed obvious due to the meeting he previously had with Marcoh, Mustang, and Hawkeye. The scar from the stitches lied in a perfect line: impossible in a fall like Edward described. To add to his suspicion, the cut rest in the center vertical groove of the boy's abs with an almost surgical precision.

The fresh scar disappeared under Edward's shirt while Hughes muttered, "I wouldn't want to have been in your shoes even if you paid me."

Picking up his glass, Edward smirked and asked, "So how much are you going to pay _me_ for it?"

Hughes lifted his head at the sound of approaching children. He smiled at the boys. "How about some extra cake since it's your birthday, too?"

"Deal!" Edward declared.

While the mob of girls stampeded to the table, Elicia skidded to her two oldest guests. The pink roses on her white dress bobbed with her sudden stop. She grinned and stretched her arms to Alphonse. "Big Brothers, you came!"

Alphonse picked her up to squeeze her in his arms. "Of course we did! Happy birthday!"

When her feet returned to the floor and she turned to Edward, her father reminded at the thought of the impending embrace, "Don't forget to be careful of Ed's tummy, Elicia."

She nodded rapidly to her father and chirped, "Can I get it now?"

Before his single nod completed; Elicia sprinted to her bedroom and returned with a small box wrapped in shiny, red paper. She thrust the gift into Edward's hands, glowing with joy. "Happy birthday, Little Big Brother Edward!" she chimed.

Sliding out of his high bar stool chair, Edward's eye twitched irritably at the word "little" although he did not retort. While he unwrapped the box, Hughes announced proudly, "She picked it out all by herself, too!"

Curiosity itching at his fingertips, Edward set aside the paper and turned over the box to read the label: Band-Aid. He blinked rapidly at the text, unable to form a response.

Elicia beamed. "It's for your owwies on your tummy! Daddy said it was a _really big_ one so I got you a _whole box_."

Looking at Hughes in stunned amazement, Edward turned his gaze down to the anxious girl before him. He set the box on the counter and knelt to Elicia's level and outstretched his arms for a hug.

Careful of his abdomen, she wove her dainty arms around his neck gently. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," he whispered, squeezing her snugly. "Thank you, Elicia." Edward released her and smiled. "Happy birthday!"

She turned and skipped to the table. "Now, let's have cake!"


	9. Chapter 8 Exciting Tale of Adventure

**Chapter 8 – Exciting Tale of Adventure**

Alphonse returned to his defensive position; his feet slid in the snow to set in a firm stagger-stance. His arms mirrored his legs: left forward, right back, and ready for action. Fingers angled toward his opponent, his hands curved open stiffly like a child preparing to feed a horse. His palms angled perpendicular to the ground, fingers tilted slightly to the sky. The stance appeared solid like a statue with no intention of movement for the next two thousand years; yet his position readied him to grip a limb, block, or dodge in defense as well as for a punch, jab, or kick in offense. Visible vapors of air rushed from his nose and mouth as he awaited orders.

Edward climbed to his feet before he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. His chest heaved desperately for oxygen from the cold winter air. His left eye shut in reflex from the pain induced by the stress on his abdomen.

As his hands moved to rest on his knees for support, Edward heard a familiar bark, "Again!"

He dragged his body into a stance identical to his younger brother. The moment he fell into position, the voice commanded, "Go!"

Alphonse sprung into action while Edward held his ground. Throwing a punch for Edward's left cheek, Edward stepped to the side and caught Alphonse by the wrist to deflect the blow. Alphonse bent his captivated limb to grip at the arm holding his wrist and twist back to strain the elbow.

Edward swung his right foot around to hook his brother's right knee, but he did not account for the snow for balance and slipped in the acrobatics onto his back. Before he could move, Alphonse had his right hand poised inches from Edward's neck like a sword.

The seriousness and concentration melted away to uncover a smile in moments. Alphonse moved the hand from his brother's neck, relaxed his stance, and turned his palm up to offer assistance.

Edward stared at the hand a moment while he attempted to catch his breath. He swung his hand around to grip his brother's forearm securely.

Alphonse heaved his brother to his feet and waited until Edward steadied to release his arm. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm just a little out-of-shape from the bedrest," Edward huffed.

Izumi stood form the snowy porch step, patting the dusty flakes from her clothes. "What's bothering you, Ed?"

"Nothing."

"If you think I can't tell the difference when you're distracted and tired--"

"Can we take a break or something, Teacher?" Edward wheezed, "Please?"

"We're done for the day," she replied. "Go inside and get some water and dry off."

The boys staggered numbly into the house and stripped off layers of clothes until only muscle shirts and shorts covered the sweating bodies. Wrath tossed each boy a dry towel and shuffled the pile of damp clothes to lie in front of the fireplace to dry. Between the sweat and melted snow, the boys were soaked and chilled to the bone.

After wiping down every inch of unclothed skin, the two rubbed the towels into their hair. While Alphonse set his towel to the side after drying his hair, Edward left his towel draped over his head for warmth. Alphonse planted his feet in front of the fireplace to dry and warm the numb limbs, but Edward manually rubbed his left foot to life in his impatience for warmth.

Izumi plucked off her mittens to clasp in her teeth while she tugged off her waistcoat. She dropped the coat on a wall hook and relieved her mouth of the mittens. "Are you staying for supper, boys?"

Edward and Alphonse exchanged glances. "Dad is probably wondering why we aren't home yet…" Alphonse muttered.

Looking over at his school bag stuffed with untouched homework, Edward answered craftily, "I have homework to do."

"Then do it while I cook," she ordered. "It doesn't take a genius to figure _that_ out."

Glad to have a chance to complete the night's homework in peace, Edward dragged his bag to lie beside him near the fireplace. He pulled out his math book first to appease Falman for a day or two. He trudged through the assignment with disinterest and completed the work with fifteen minutes. He made quick work of his English homework, as well.

After he tucked the textbooks away, Edward announced, "I'm done, Teacher!"

"Is that everything?"

He peeked in his bag to double-check. "I had science, but I finished it in class."

"All right," she replied. "You can grab a book from the shelf, if you want."

Since Alphonse was busy reading a book for English, Edward plucked a more advanced book—for his age, at least—from the shelf. He returned to the fireplace and plopped down on the rug like a child with a new toy. He opened to the bookmark on page 124 and focused intently on the text of the chemistry book. If an onlooker did not know he was reading a chemistry book, he or she may assume by his vigor and interest he was reading an exciting tale of adventure.

He absorbed every speck of information like a desert-dry sponge. The world surrounding him faded away as his mind swam in the sea of theories, chemicals, elements, and compounds. The aromas from the cooking food replaced with ionic compounds, the crackling of fire with convection, and the dim light with photoluminescence.

When he read through page 207, Alphonse nudged his shoulder to draw his attention. "She said supper's ready."

Setting the bookmark neatly in the page, Edward closed the book and ventured to the dining table. The kitchen buzzed like a small production line: Izumi transferred the cooked food to an appropriate serving container, Wrath neatly set the plates and silverware for four routinely in place, and Alphonse retrieved water glasses for each setting. Edward fell into stride with the activities by fetching four napkins from the cabinet and pouring three glasses of milk (he detested the beverage).

The four soon settled around the table, muttered prayers of thanks, and passed around the food. Wrath shoveled his dinner into his mouth until his mother scolded him—as she did nearly every meal. Izumi, Sig, and Alphonse ate in a civilized manner. The adults snuck glances to Edward while he stared silently at his plate.

Little food rest before him, but he did not eat. His innards felt unbelievably sore from sparring, and he worried eating would add stress to the area and cause complications. The strength of his hunger battled defiantly with the pain against Edward's willpower. He glared at the chicken and steamed broccoli, cursing the delicious aromas that wafted to his nose and teased his hunger.

Noticing the adults' gazes, Alphonse leaned over to ask Edward if he was all right; but Izumi ordered calmly, "Eat your food, Edward."

His head snapped up to check who had addressed him. Edward watched Izumi a moment and slowly turned back to his food. "I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

She turned to look at him wordlessly, and he jumped slightly in surprise. Edward shrunk from her gaze as he tried to resist her command. Her eyes burned into his mind to see his fears and pains. Izumi did not waiver, her stone exterior making Edward feel like a foolish child. As she turned away to eat, he gingerly lifted his fork to pick at his food.

**oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oOoO****oO**

Mustang stared at the ice in his glass, the light from the moon outside and his desk lamp causing the ice to glow and shine. The amber liquid tainted the ice's pure clarity from the bottom of the container. He tipped the bottle of scotch over the glass once again until he was satisfied with the amount.

Papers and open files littered his table in thick piles. He poured over them obsessively, one hand clutching a document to read in turn while the other buried in his unwashed hair in frustration. His leg bounced irritably as he reread a report over a string of murders near the capital. He knew the dates and method were not consistent with Trisha's disappearance and death—bodies dismembered and dumped in alleys—but he could not dismiss the file on the off chance of a connection, because the victims only consisted of beautiful young women.

After he dismissed the report, he drank from his glass and moved to another file. He buried both hands in his hair and scratched at his scalp. His hands moved to rub at the back of his neck and he growled in frustration.

He looked up at the photograph of Trisha framed on the table and sighed. "Think, Roy," he chided aloud. "Edward rarely completes homework, but he has it done in no time in detention. So why isn't it done?"

Drumming his fingers absently on the table he stared into the depths of his glass pensively. "He was too emotional for a kid in his position when he found out about Trisha…" He thought about the injuries inflicted on Edward subordinates reported to him. "Why would he lie about how he got hurt?" His grip on the glass tightened. Suddenly the day of the fight entered his thoughts, and the mystery of why Envy looked so familiar nagged him insistently.

A knock boomed on the door to rip Mustang from his thoughts. He paused to wait for another knock before venturing to the door. He peered out through the window curtains in case the unannounced visitor was also an unwelcome one. He cursed under his breath in a sigh, but he unlocked and opened the door.

"Mister Mustang," the student greeted. At the agitation on his principal's face, he asked, "Is this a bad time?"

"No, I just thought you'd talk to me at school is all." Although he did not want to raise questions as to why a student would be at his house at that late hour, he stepped aside to allow the boy entry. "Come in, Alfonse."

Mustang led the student to the living room with a flick of the lights to avoid unveiling his mess of paperwork in the dining room. He waited until he and the student settled in adjacent pieces of furniture. "So," Mustang began. "Why did you come to see me, Mister Heidrich?"

"I've been reporting to Mister Falman like you told me to, but I thought you would want to hear this right away," Alfonse answered. "I've been walking by the Elrics' house a couple nights a week like you said…"

Mustang nodded calmly as a sign to continue.

"I didn't hear anything, and it didn't look like anybody was home, so I looked around a bit--"

"Did you just come from there?"

Nodding, he continued without skipping a beat. "—and I noticed a bunch of weird piles of stones at the end of a trail. The Elrics and I share the same cultural background, and…"

"And?" Mustang prodded.

"Where I'm from when stones are piled like that, it usually marks a burial site."

Mustang did not allow his mask of neutrality to slip despite his bewildered interest. He nodded, already aware of the custom but not wanting the student to learn the fact.

Alfonse received the gesture as a sign to continue. "After I saw that, I got a little freaked out; so I started back to the road. I didn't come close to the house like you told me, but I heard something from the house… It was so short, I wondered for a second if I even heard it right…"

"What was it?"

"…Someone screaming."


	10. Chapter 9 Phantom Signals

**Chapter 9 – Phantom Signals**

A pair of hands swooped over his vision to cover Edward's eyes from behind. By process of elimination—as well as the cream-soft texture of the hands against his face—he determined the identity of the prankster instantly, but he played along. "Who is it?"

He could hear her playfully lower her voice in an attempt to disguise her identity. "Guess," the voice rumbled.

"Urhm… Marilyn Monroe?" He heard her bite back an amused giggle and smiled. "Hi, Winry."

She laughed and moved her fingers from his eyes. "How did you know it was me?" Winry asked while she moved into his line of sight.

"First of all: you're the only person I know who does that," he started. While he stuffed his textbooks in his locker, Edward continued, "Plus, only a gearhead like you would use that much moisturizer."

He smirked triumphantly at her defiant scowl. She boxed the back of his head, but he merely laughed. As long as her weapon was a fist rather than a wrench, he neither feared nor minded her blows. He knew her hands suffered daily when working with the heavy materials; Edward remembered how chafed and raw his skin fell constantly when he first began to use auto-mail. Thanks to the generosity of the moisturizer, only the acquired strength in her expert hands betrayed her occupation. Still, her tomboyish personality provided wonderful entertainment to poke fun at a ritual she considered embarrassingly girly.

"So, do you have detention today?" she asked with a mild grumble.

"Nope," he announced. "I'm supposed to help Teacher at the butcher shop, though."

"But you told my grandma you were coming over today so we could check on your auto-mail, remember?" she frowned. Winry spotted Wrath and the younger Elric approaching. "Wrath, would your mom be mad if I stole Ed today to make sure his auto-mail is working right?" she called.

Wrath observed Edward's and Winry's faces carefully, afraid of throwing himself in an argument blindly, and answered slowly, "No… I don't think she'd mind…"

Alphonse agreed, "Take care of your auto-mail. We can handle the shop."

"We won't be there long, anyway. We're closing early to go out of town for the weekend," Wrath assured confidently.

"Then it's settled!" Winry declared diplomatically.

Edward knew the battle was lost. "I'll see you at home then, Al," he sighed.

As his brother and neighbor trotted off, Winry pulled Edward by the wrist down the hall. The two passed a group of six and stopped when Edward was addressed. Russell's disapproval of his stolen attention bubbled under his skin when the dark-haired girl hooked on his arm waved at Edward. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Hi, Ed," she greeted.

A girl identical to her, but sporting braids and wearing more flamboyant clothing, stood on the other side of Russell. Unlike her twin, her arms remained at her side until she raised her hand to wave shyly. She echoed the greeting, "Hi, Edward."

Edward's classmate Alphonse stood beside the second girl and leaned around her to greet his friends. "Hey, Ed. Hey, Winry. You remember the new transfer students, right?"

Winry did not reply, but Edward nodded modestly. "Noah," he acknowledged to the girl with decorative hair braids that framed her face. "Rose," he repeated in the same tone to the twin nearer to Russell.

Before Edward could wave innocently back at the girls, Winry gripped him by the ear and dragged him away in a fit of jealousy. Fletcher, as he had been walking behind the group in a daydream, called after them, "Bye; have a good weekend!"

Edward did not reply for her was too busy begging, "Ow! _Winry_, what the _hell_? That _hurts_! _Let go_!" As she tugged harder, his please ran together. "_Ahgh!_ _Le'gole'gole'gole'gole'gole'go_!"

She did not release his ear until the school campus lie well behind. Her mood appeared better; and Edward decided against bringing up the encounter, retreating to rubbing sorely at his abused ear. He lowered his hand when she twirled and danced to walk backward in his path for conversation.

"After we check your auto-mail," Winry inquired. "Are you going to stay for dinner?"

He shook his head. "Thanks, but not tonight: I really have to get home."

"We're having stew," she tempted in a sing-song voice.

Smiling in spite of himself, he shook his head again. "Sorry, I can't. Another night: I promise."

"You _know_ I'm going to hold you to it," she threatened.

"Yeah," he replied. "But I don't mind. A promise is a promise."

She grinned and moved to walk beside him. "Good!"

"So what do you and Grams need to do with my auto-mail?"  
"Just the usual: check-up and maintenance." Grabbing his right, steel arm; she lifted the hand into view and moved the fingers. The joints squeaked in an almost-inaudible whisper with the movement. "Hear that?"

"I… think so," he answered uncertainly.

"Tha_t_ means the sewing-machine oil in the workshop has _your_ name on it."

He watched while she handled the steel without the slightest hesitation, like his hand was perfectly normal and should not be any other way. Her ease felt like a breath of fresh air after the majority of people he encountered flinched at the artificial limbs on a daily basis. Although he could not physically feel her touch, phantom signals told his brain what the would-be nerves would have while he observed.

When she looked up to ask the reason for his stare, he turned away inconspicuously like he had only been watching for a moment. She did not speak, but she lowered his hand from her sight. After several silent minutes, Edward realized Winry had not released his hand.

For the remainder of the journey, conversation remained casual and neither mentioned the connected hands. A large, familiar, black-and-white dog plodded up to greet them when less than a quarter of a mile lie ahead. His long tongue flopped out to the side and his tail wagged to greet the familiar people.

"Hey, Den," Winry greeted and pat him on the head.

"What're you doing this far down the road?" Edward inquired in a mild scold.

"He's the best escort in Resembool, that's what," Winry declared proudly.

Den trotted along beside the two and weaved back and forth on the path in an odd circle around the two. Edward watched the dog's silly dance in amusement while Winry—accustomed to the behavior—ignored Den's presence.

Upon entry, Winry discovered her grandmother to be hard at work taking measurements for a new client. Edward occupied his attention by playing with the ever-growing kitten while Winry assisted Pinako with the young man's measurements for a new right hand.

When the Rockbells finally finished and entered the living room, Winry smiled softly at the scene. Edward lounged on the couch with Den over his legs to pin the boy against the cushions. Den's head rest in Edward's lap, muzzle on his lower stomach, while his tail curled around Edward's feet. Edward's right hand rest on the scruff of the dog's neck, fingers opening and closing robotically to soothe the animal.

On Edward's chest lie Paninya. She slept soundly, fur crowding her human bed's face. The fur ruffled with each deep rhythmic breath, but she paid no heed. Edward's left hand weaved in a tuft of fur soothingly for warmth, holding her comfortably in place.

Warmth from the animals left a film of sweat on Edward's face, a dim sheen across his skin. Nonetheless his expression remained peaceful, his light snores easily drowned by the kitten's content purrs.

Although tempted to allow him to continue napping, Winry knew Edward did not want to return home late. She sat on the arm of the couch. "Wake-y, wake-y," she chimed. "Or your chemistry notes will bake-y!"

Edward cracked an eye open instantly. "Is that really necessary?" he yawned.

She smiled and jerked her head to the side in a nod toward the workshop. "Let's get this done so you can go home and rest, huh?"

When he shifted to sit up, Den groaned awake and slid off the couch. Edward cradled his arms around the sleepy kitten; she did not stir in her bliss and released a loud purr, reaching her paws out in a half-stretch to remain sprawled in his arms.

Laying the bundle of fluff gently on the couch—she blinked up sleepily with a lazy shake of the head—Edward stood from the couch and followed Winry to the workshop.

As promised, the check-up remained routine. Oiled joints, function tests, mobility questions, and the like. Night had thrown a blanket over the land by the time Winry escorted Edward to the front porch. She passed a palm-sized bottle of sewing machine oil to him.

"If you have any more issues with those joints, just put a little of this in it and it should be fine. Just keep an eye on it so it doesn't wear down on you," she advised.

Tucking the bottle in his pocket, he pulled the collar of his coat around his neck for warmth. "I know, I know, I remember." He turned to observe the dark road, no moon or stars visible in the sky to light his path.

"I wish spring would hurry up," he grumbled. "I hate how short the days are."

"Yeah," she agreed absently.

Both stared at the road in silence for several beats before Edward sighed, "Well, I'd better get home." He advanced a step toward the stairs. "Thanks for--"

"Ed, wait," Winry requested.

He froze and pivoted to his side to face her. Unaware of when she had approached him, Edward found her to be directly beside him. Before he could react verbally or otherwise, Winry touched her lips to his and retreated a step back.

She smiled awkwardly and her cheeks flushed deep pink. "Have a good weekend."

Edward's heart raced in his chest like a steam engine thrust into full-speed, the hot steam rising to his head to turn his skin vibrant shades of scarlet. His thoughts skidded to a halt, and his brain separated from his mouth. He groped for a response and managed to stutter, "Uhm… You, too, Winry."

He turned back to the stairs, and his legs carried him along robotically. As his mind slowly processed what occurred, he smiled. He found himself unconsciously waltzing giddily along the road and singing quietly to himself, "Hello, my beautiful. It seems I just can't stay away…"

The journey blurred from his ecstasy and shortened the road considerably. As expected, few lights illuminated his home upon his arrival. He skipped inside and plopped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and flung his coat into the closet. Edward found no signs of his brother's return home, so he refrained from starting dinner. He tiptoed through the house as to not wake Envy on the chance he was still asleep.

He retreated to the bedroom he and Alphonse shared and closed the door behind him. He grabbed a book and flopped onto his bed comfortably, his book held over his head to read.

As he read, the book lowered to his lap and a shadow caught his eye. Flattening the novel, he looked over at the foot of his brother's bed: Alphonse's backpack.

"Alphonse?" Edward called aloud.

Realization slammed into him like a train and he leapt from the bed and sprinted out of the room. His stomach and heart battled for dominance as they climbed into his throat.

"Al," he rasped to his vacant surroundings.

Envy slumped into the living room and spotted Edward flying around like a frantic pheasant. "What're you yelling about, full-metal pipsqueak?"

"Where's Alphonse?" Edward demanded in a desperate squawk.

"Hoenheim took him downstairs when he got home a couple hours ago," he replied casually.

Edward's eyes widened and he bolted to the stairs. Envy followed and warned in a bored tone, "It's no use: he locked the door since you walked in on us the other night." Envy rubbed his bandaged left ear gently in hopes of relieving an itch beneath the gauze. "You're not going to get in."

Envy sighed when he saw Edward stubbornly fight the soundproof door. Edward punched, kicked, and slammed his body into the structure with no success. "Alphonse!" Edward shrieked. "Dad, stop! _Please_!"

With a hefty sigh, Envy grabbed Edward around the torso to drag him away. Edward thrashed violently and outstretched his hands to the door.

"Put me down!" Edward roared.

When Envy ignored the command, Edward swung his metal arm around to slug Envy in the injured ear.

Envy yelped and dropped his captive instantly to cradle his ear. Furious, he swung at the boy to find him too close for his attack and Edward's forehead slammed him square in the face. He staggered and his blurry double-vision watched Edward freeze in a dazed panic.

"You're dead," Envy snarled while attempting to hold his bleeding nose during his vertigo.

Edward turned and stumbled for the front door. He fumbled down the driveway and set off at a blind dead-sprint down the road, and tears muddled his vision so he had to rely on memory to follow the invisible path.

The winter air chilled him to the bone and each icy inhale sent daggers of pain through his lungs and throat. He did not dare glance behind him to check if Envy was in pursuit in case he lost his balance. His abdomen burned and throbbed under the stress of the cold and exertion, but he did not slow.

After what felt like decades of running, the Curtis home finally rolled into view. When he registered the lack of light within the house, his heart sank as he suddenly recalled the weekend trip Wrath mentioned. In his horrified disappointment, Edward forgot about the iced-over snow pile in the yard and tumbled to a halt in the snow.

"Teacher," he rasped as if praying loudly. "Help!"

He heard no movement within the house.


	11. Chapter 10 Innocent

**[AN]** Just a warning to everyone, this could very possibly be the last installment to Paper Flowers... I have not decided (as I am very tired at the moment) if there is going to be an epilogue or not yet. There most likely will be, rest assured, but do not be surprised if it is very short. Enjoy chapter ten! **[/AN]**

**Chapter 10 – Innocent**

After a long silence, Edward heard the front door unlock. "Ed, what's going on?" Izumi's hard, kind voice boomed.

He pushed himself up to his knees. His skin stung in the cold and burned where the ice had scraped him. "It's Alphonse," he panted in tears.

Izumi, followed hastily by Sig, went to Edward's side in the snow. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Please," Edward begged. "My dad… He's locked in--"

She did not wait for further explanation and turned her head to her house to bark, "Well, you muttonheads, here's what you've been waiting for." Izumi stood and jogged inside while her husband pulled Edward to his feet. She reemerged with a heavy blanket over her arm, still tossing orders to the contents of her house.

"Wrath, you stay here. You two come with me, and the rest of you can follow in the other car," Izumi announced. She wrapped the blanket around Edward's shoulders. "Come on, Ed. You have to show me where he is." She guided him to the car and slid into the backseat with him. Her hands rubbed firmly over the cloth to warm his body; and she quickly checked over his visible scrapes in the dark while the two front doors opened, the seats filled, the doors slammed shut, and the engine roared to life and bolted down the road.

"Are you hurt, Ed?" she asked.

The run and pain labored his breathing, and he occupied a moment to capture a few breaths. "Yeah," he breathed despite the agony. "But Al--"

"We can handle your father," she assured.

Edward suddenly remembered other beings occupied the car and looked to the front seats. He recognized the two figures almost instantly. "Teacher," he whispered.

Her arms rest around his torso protectively for warmth. "What is it?"

"Why are _they_ here?" He eyed the school principal in the driver's seat and the vice principal in the front passenger seat.

Izumi patted the melted snow from Edward's scraped face with the blanket, growing gentler each time she saw him wince. "Don't worry about them."

"But, Teacher--"

She scrubbed at his face more roughly for a moment to silence him. "When we get to your house, just show me where Al is. Don't think about anything else, understand?"

"I hurt Envy; he's going to kill me," Edward muttered shakily.

"You'll be fine," Izumi snorted. "Envy won't bother you. Just do as I said."

The vehicle soared down the road. Upon arrival at the house, Mustang locked the breaks and cranked the wheel so the metal beast skidded to a calculated halt before the house. Edward threw the door open and stumbled out, his cold and battered feet reluctant to carry his weight. Izumi gripped his shoulders to prevent his feet from collapsing out from under his body.

"Straight to Alphonse," Izumi reminded in an insistent whisper.

Edward closed his mind to the world around him, and he stormed inside the house. Izumi remained directly at his side and constantly swept the vicinity with her gaze. The second car stopped behind theirs, and her husband piled out with several more soldiers. She turned to face forward when she saw the officers withdrawing guns.

Despite the state of his battered feet, Edward sprinted past Envy; held at bay by the gun Armstrong aimed at his chest; and barreled down the staircase. When he began to beat against the door, two sets of hands jerked him away from the barrier.

Mustang fired a gun at the door handle with little effect. Sig pushed passed and slammed his body into the structure. He ducked to the floor as the door flew open to avoid the paths of the guns behind him.

"Freeze!" Mustang bellowed. He glanced around a moment before he spotted Hoenheim and directed his gun directly at the man's head.

Izumi raised her gun to the man, as well. "Don't move, Hoenheim," she barked.

The scientist calmly turned his head to the side to face his guests, his back to the door because he was looming over a table. "Roy, it's been years," he greeted. "What brings you to Resembool?"

Mustang did not answer the question. "Let the boy go."

"Oh, you don't want me to do that."

Edward inched forward quietly, the tension in the room preventing his efforts to check his brother's status.

Hoenheim lifted one bloody hand casually—initiating echoes of readying gun clicks—and notified, "If I let go of this vein, he'll bleed to death faster than you can put me in handcuffs."

Edward stared at the hand in wide-eyed horror and whimpered.

The soldiers slowly crept closer, guns never straying from Hoenheim's form. Mustang dared to make his way closer to the man ahead of his troupe. "Don't hurt the kid," Mustang ordered.

"I would never try to hurt my sons, Private," Hoenheim replied.

"It's Colonel now," snapped Mustang.

"Oh, really? Congratulations."

Only the careful, quipped trait of the colonel's words—and the firearm—betrayed the appearance of an informal conversation between old comrades. Izumi's hand firmly held Edward by the shoulder to prevent his approach. His body slowly tugged toward the table like a powerful magnet despite the woman's iron grip.

Low, distant rumbles of an automobile notified Hawkeye—guarding the rear—backup had arrived; but no one else paid attention to the sound. Mustang stopped beside Hoenheim, gun directed firmly at the scientist's face. "It's over, Hoenheim," Mustang muttered.

No one turned upon Marcoh's arrival as he crept to the table. He hesitated at Mustang's side before migrating to the opposite side of the table. "Let him take over, and no funny business," Mustang ordered.

Hoenheim shrugged nonchalantly like he could not understand why the soldiers were so tense and formal, and he allowed Marcoh to clamp the artery he held.

The moment his blood-soaked hands moved clear of the boy, the laboratory burst into noise and motion. The soldiers swooped on Hoenheim. Izumi rushed to Marcoh's aid at the table and followed his requests for tools.

In the bustle, Edward inched toward his brother carefully. When he caught a glimpse of his beloved younger brother, his legs turned to stone.

On the table, Alphonse's arms and legs were held firmly down to the table by the familiar leather straps. The unmoving boy stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded in his unconsciousness. Bright drops of crimson covered his innocent face.

Edward followed the blood down to the source: Alphonse's open chest cavity. A powerful clamp held his ribcage open to expose the lungs. Marcoh's hands worked diligently inside the region, and glimpses of Alphonse's fluttering heart slid in-and-out of view.

With a horrified gasp, Edward covered his mouth as his knees buckled beneath him. He felt the salty tears sting his eyes and his stomach writhed uncomfortably. "A-Alphonse?" he croaked.

He felt the blood drain from his face to make his head spin, and Edward sunk to the floor. His body quaked in horror and rage. The anger bubbled up until he screeched hoarsely, "You bastard, you promised! You _promised_!"

Several soldiers and Izumi turned to watch the boy's declarations. Hoenheim placidly listened to his son like Edward was merely throwing a childish tantrum.

"I never complained…" Edward whined hopelessly, unaware of the listening audience. "I didn't tell…" His hands gripped at the floor to support his weight. "You said yourself I would be stable enough in a few days!"

A pair of gentle hands held his shoulders for support, but Edward did not acknowledge the contact. Tears fell freely from his eyes, burning with his overwhelming flood of emotions.

"You promised not to use Alphonse!" Edward cried. "You lied!"

"He offered to help since you weren't home," Hoenheim replied matter-of-factly.

"He didn't know what you meant!" Edward spat, "_He trusted you_!"

The soldiers shuffled past him with Hoenheim in tow. As he passed, Edward could smell more strongly the metallic stench of his brother's blood on his father's hands. His stomach convulsed to eject his stomach's contents to the floor before him.

"Edward, let's get out of here," a voice behind him muttered softly.

He knew the voice, but Edward could not piece together why the school counselor would be in his father's laboratory. Nonetheless, Edward battled inwardly with the proposition. He hated the laboratory and loathed the idea of remaining a moment longer, but he could not leave Alphonse under any circumstances.

Five little words reached his ears in the form of Marcoh's voice from across the room which plunged his senses into darkness: "I don't have a pulse."

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Hoenheim leaned back indifferently in his seat. "I'm surprised you didn't come to visit sooner, Colonel Mustang," he drawled. "Trisha would have loved to see you."

Mustang sat stone-faced across the interrogation table with a dark scowl hiding in his gaze despite his efforts to remain detached. "Did you kill Dante?"

"Who?"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," Mustang muttered to indicate he wanted a file she held.

She opened the proper file and withdrew a photograph of a young woman with short, black hair. Her pale skin glowed in the sunlight though her smile remained a tiny shadow on her petite face.

"Dante: your first wife," Mustang refreshed. "Did you kill her?"

Examining the dried blood on his fingers with mild interest, Hoenheim replied nonchalantly, "Unfortunately."

"What do you mean by that?"

He sighed, appearing to be suffering from great boredom. "She wouldn't allow me to continue my research--"

"You mean dissecting your infant son," Mustang interrupted coldly.

Hoenheim ignored the comment and decided to taunt the man. "And you felt so _sorry_ for me," he sighed. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "A poor scientist whose laboratory was shut down after seeing his fair share of the war with his team… His wife tragically found dead, leaving him to raise his son all by himself--"

"That's enough--!"

"… You asked if I needed a babysitter because you knew a lovely young lady who was _great_ with children--"

"Shut up--!"

"… I remember how you tried to hide how angry you were when she told you we were getting married. She could see your jealousy _so_ easily, it was pathetic; but you insisted you were happy for us." Hoenheim chuckled sardonically, "And you thought some space would be the best thing for your '_friendship_,' so you let her leave with _me_."

Mustang's façade cracked. His fist slammed against the table. "Hoenheim!" he barked.

Hoenheim leaned forward in his seat to rest his chin against his propped fist. "How does it make you feel that she left you, a poor foot-soldier with no future, for a powerful scientist working for the military to have two children—quite enjoyable, by the way, though I've had better--"

The colonel's composure shattered and he leapt across the table to grip Hoenheim by the front of his shirt. "Not another word," he snarled.

"Colonel," Hawkeye warned quietly.

Mustang suddenly remembered where he was and pulled his emotions into check; he released the man to sit stiffly in his seat. After a moment of silence to collect his wits, he muttered, "Detective Curtis, check on the boys, would you?"

Izumi unfolded her arms with a disapproving scowl, but she nodded and left the room. She glided down the hallway past gawking officers to a heavily-guarded room. Her husband stood beside the door.

"How are they?" she asked.

"After Marcoh got his tools set up, we got Alphonse set up on an I.V. He's pretty stable," Sig reported.

"How's Ed?"

"He's in there, too," he replied. "He wouldn't let anybody make him leave, Hell or high water."

"He woke up, then? When?"

"When the room was getting set up; right after you left."

"I bet he's pretty shaken up…"

Sig nodded. "He's been pretty quiet, for the most part. He only talks if he's asking questions about Al—or yelling at someone trying to make him leave."

"And where's Envy? Is he in there, too?"

"He's in another room having his ear looked at. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is asking him questions, and then he's going to talk to the boys." He glanced around at the eavesdropping soldiers and mouthed to Izumi, "I think you should talk to them first."

She nodded in agreement. Izumi swung the door open quietly and stepped inside. She frowned sympathetically at the sight. Alphonse lay on a cot in the middle of the makeshift treatment room, and a vacant chair sat beside the bed. Edward's body curled around his brother protectively in the small space between Alphonse and the edge. Edward cradled Alphonse's head to his chest. He did not disturb the web of I.V.s and monitors, and he lie above the blankets for added mobility.

When the door clicked softly shut, Edward's eyes snapped open to search the room wildly. He calmed when he saw Izumi. "Oh, it's you," he sighed.

"How is he doing?"

Edward turned his gaze back to the form in his arms. He brushed a few strands of Alphonse's hair from the closed lids. "He has more color in his face… so I guess he's doing better…"

He closed his arms a little tighter and choked a sob of grief. "It was supposed to be me, Teacher… I went to Winry's, which meant no one was home to protect Al from this…"

"This wasn't your fault, Edward," Izumi chided. She occupied the empty seat.

Edward ignored her words, observing his brother's unmoving form. "He didn't even know… about any of it… what happened in the lab, y'know? We never talked about it. He knew some stuff, I guess… but I knew he would worry too much if I told him."

"There's nothing wrong with having someone worry about you."

His voice broke with the stress of attempting to hold back his emotions. "My mom worried about Envy when she started to figure out what was happening to him, and you know what happened to her…"

Tears sliding out the corners of his eyes, Edward nuzzled his face into Alphonse's hair like a child seeking solace in a stuffed toy. After he regained enough composure, he asked, "What's happening? Why were those people and my teachers at your house, and why are they here?"

"They're undercover military officers. They were at my house because we were exchanging information. They were sent to find your parents and to gather enough evidence against your father to arrest him," she explained.

He concluded not to ask what type of evidence the officers had been searching for. "So you're an officer, too? Did you talk to me and Al just to get to our dad?"

"No, I'm actually a detective. I read an article in the newspaper at the time about your mother's disappearance, so Sig and I came to check it out since we didn't have any cases at the time."

"You were pregnant with Wrath when you moved here," Edward recalled aloud quietly to himself.

"We would've done something sooner, but we couldn't get anything against him to prove anything. When Colonel Mustang came around, I wanted to put knots on his head; because I was sure he'd end up spooking your dad into doing something drastic… He was at my house because I was angry with him for how brash he was handling the investigation. I didn't want anything to happen to you two, too."

Edward remained silent while he turned the information over in his mind carefully to file for later reference. "Did you know? About the lab, I mean."

"I had a pretty good idea for a couple years…"

"How long?"

"About when you two started coming over regularly for tutoring."

"Did you know about my mom?"

"No," she whispered. "Not until after…"

Tears welled in Edward's eyes at the memory of his mother's death. "Is there… Is there anything you could've done to make her normal again?"  
She saw him tremble in hopes of an answer to settle his restless soul. "No," she replied sadly.

Edward closed his eyes to contain his tears, the presently-waiting droplets escaping, and drew a deep inhale. "Okay," he breathed.

Upon observing his obvious disquiet, Izumi stood and left the room to allow the boy privacy to absorb the night's events and sleep. She stood outside the door with Sig for the remainder of the night, forbidding fatigue from overwhelming her senses until a pair of well-rested soldiers could relieve her duty.

Early the following morning, a light tap echoed against the door before the handle turned. The door opened a fraction and a familiar voice asked, "May I come in?" When he met no reply, he proceeded inside. "You awake, kiddo?"

"Mm-hmm," Edward hummed sleepily.

Hughes glided to the foot of the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I want to sleep more," Edward mumbled.

"How's Al?"

Edward shifted stiffly to check his brother's status. The movement jostled the bed softly, and Alphonse stirred. "Al?" Edward whispered hopefully.

Alphonse released a breathy sigh. His eyelids fluttered open to search his surroundings lazily. He heard his name again, guiding his gaze to the source. Several moments passed before Alphonse could focus on his brother's face. "Ed," he rasped. "What's going on?"

A watery grin stretched across Edward's face and he choked a sob-like chuckle. He tightened his arms around Alphonse and snuggled his face into the dark locks. He sighed in relief.

"Glad to see you're awake," Hughes announced.

Unaware of the man's presence until the greeting, Alphonse searched the room for the source. Once he found the man, he scrunched his eyebrows inquisitively. A brief glance to Edward indicated he felt addled about his brother's behavior.

When Hughes did not answer his unasked question, Alphonse asked, "Brother, what happened?"

Edward released his brother to speak face-to-face. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what? I remember walking home from the shop, but nothing after that…" Alphonse glanced to his brother and school counselor. "Did something happen while you were at Winry's?"

Edward turned to Hughes. "Why doesn't he remember?"

"He could be unconsciously suppressing it," Hughes replied. When Edward's face paled with worry, he added, "It's probably best, considering the circumstances."

Suddenly reminded of his father, Edward asked, "He's being arrested, isn't he?"

Folding his arms, Hughes nodded. "Yeah, there's no doubt about that."

Edward looked down at Alphonse's bewildered expression. Edward's eyebrows furrowed pensively before he returned his attention to the officer. "You're not going to separate us," he declared.

The door opened behind Hughes and Envy skulked inside. Hughes continued undisturbed, "We didn't plan to. We were actually going to ask if your brother would mind caring for you until you finish school."

Edward and Alphonse faces scrunched in confusion like Hughes had suggested each had seven noses. "We don't have another brother," Edward notified.

"Of course you do!" Hughes nodded in Envy's direction. "The files I received said Envy is your half-brother." The expressions on Edward's and Alphonse's faces coaxed him to second-guess his sources. "What? Am I wrong?"

While Edward and Alphonse stared in shock at the new discovery, the unfazed Envy grumbled, "I suppose I could take the midgets for a little while…"

"I'm not a midget!" Edward roared automatically. "There's no way in Hell we're staying with you!"

"What else can you do?" Hughes asked.

Edward looked to Alphonse, who gazed up at him like a helpless puppy seeking shelter. "We have two good legs…" Edward muttered. "We'll get up and use them."


	12. Epilogue

**[AN]** Just a reminder about the contest and upcoming revisions. I have not yet decided a deadline for the contest, but it will likely be in May. Please let me know if you're interested! Thank you, everyone, for reading! **[/AN]**

**Epilogue**

Edward slunk around the kitchen in search of food. Alphonse would wake soon, and he needed to eat. Since returning home, Alphonse's appetite quickly decreased. Worry and flashbacks plagued Edward to chase away hopes of sleeping in the hauntingly empty house.

Edward had not ventured far outside the house since the return to be able to care for his brother at all times. The two weeks at home without replenishing the cabinets left the shelves nearly empty, save the eggs Edward harvested daily from the chicken coop.

Pain medication forced Alphonse into sleep for the majority of the day and he easily slept through the night. Edward forced Alphonse awake every four to six hours to administer more painkillers and antibiotics to ward off the ever-stalking agony and infection. Edward obsessively refused to leave his brother alone for more than a few minutes.

Edward commenced humming quietly to disperse the lonely silence during his search through the kitchen. He scrunched his nose in dissuasion at the sight of the eggs. He did not know how many more times he could eat the same food and not grow sick of the taste. He sighed and grabbed a couple handfuls to set on the counter.

He jumped in surprise when a loud knock echoed against the front door. Edward tiptoed through the house to peek out the window. He sighed with relief and continued to the door.

Turning the squeaky handle as quietly as he could, Edward pulled open the door to smile awkwardly at his guest. "Hi, Winry," he muttered.

She shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Grandma and I made stew, and we thought you would want some…"

Fighting against habit, Edward backed away from the entryway and suggested, "Come on in."

Winry stepped across the threshold hesitantly, surprised to be invited inside. Never before had she— or anyone else she knew of—been allowed in the house so freely. She attempted to contain her curiosity while she glanced around the home. The interior held an ominous presence like a long-abandoned scene of a massacre or battle of war. Despite the unsettling hollowness, the house stood in perfect condition: clean, well-kept, and yielding a bright appearance of feigned normalcy. The happy photographs and décor haunted Winry like a staring audience at her intrusion. Knowing of Edward's lack of talent for interior decorating, she vaguely wondered if the arrangements remained in the order his mother left them upon original placement. Her access to the home on the few previous occasions had been severely restricted to one or two rooms, certainly never free-reign. The visits were so suffocating, she never dared to observe her surroundings closely. She could not decide if she preferred the emptiness over the suffocation yet.

"Where's Alphonse?" she asked softly, surprised to hear herself speak in the soulless home.

"He's sleeping in our room," Edward answered nonchalantly.

"I heard about what happened at school and from Grandma," Winry muttered. "I wish you would've said something…"

Edward did not respond to the comment. His eyes wandered around like absorbing the sights at a museum. When he turned to her once again, he offered, "I'll take that for you, if you want."

She looked down at her hands in surprise like she did not know how the two thermoses arrived in her possession. Nonetheless she held out her hands to pass her burdens to Edward.

He carried the containers to the kitchen, secretly euphoric to have food other than eggs.

Winry followed in a daze. "Has anyone been checking up on you guys? Nobody has seen you around town or anything…"

"Teacher stopped by last week or so before she left to move back to Dublith to make sure we were settled and stuff."

"Is that it? Nobody else?"

"That's it," he confirmed.

"I wish I'd come over sooner…" she sighed guiltily to herself. "But the principal said you'd probably want to rest for a while…"

"It's okay," Edward assured. "That's partially true, but I'll bet Al will be really happy to see you when he wakes up."

"How about you? How are you doing with all this?"

He shrugged, "Fine."

"You look exhausted."

The mental image of his open-chested younger brother flashed before his eyes, but he shook his head dismissively. "Just making sure Al gets his medications."

She eyed him doubtfully, but she did not argue. Winry diverted her gaze to her fidgeting hands and announced, "Grams told me not to stay long, so you guys could rest…"

He nodded in understanding. "Thanks for the stew."

"Um, Grandma is letting me take the car more now," she began. "So I'll come over more and stuff. You guys can eat at our house anytime; just call if you need a ride, okay?"

Edward blinked, dumbstruck, for several moments before he processed the offer. He smiled faintly and nodded. "Okay. Sure."

Winry carefully stretched her arms around his neck in an embrace. She knew too well how reluctant her friend was to ask for any form of assistance unprovoked. "I'll come back tomorrow."

He squeezed firmly back. "See you then."


End file.
